


Alpha & Omega: New Mating and Coupling Dynamics

by ProtonBeam



Series: Patient Zero [2]
Category: Star Wars - All Media Types, Star Wars Sequel Trilogy
Genre: A Continuation of the A/B/O Origin Story No One Asked For, Alpha Ben Solo, Alpha/Beta/Omega Dynamics, Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, Attempt at Humor, Awkward Ben Solo Strikes Again, Banter Between Two Witty Shits, Because what A/O pair isn’t Possessive?, Ben’s Alpha is King Shit, Breeding Kink Lite, Budding Relationship, Come Marking, Come play, Crack Treated Seriously (Yet Again), Depending on how their first heat goes, F/M, Face-Fucking Lite, Fluff and Smut, Heat Sex, Hey Look We’re Mated, Jewish Ben Solo, Knotting, Mating Cycles/In Heat, Omega Rey (Star Wars), Or maybe not so light, Oral Knotting, Oral Sex, Other Additional Tags to Be Added, Perfectly Timed Love Confessions, Porn With Plot, Porn with Feelings, Possessiveness, Scenting, Sorry I Couldn't Help Finding Plot Again, Squirting, Still Paging Dr. Solo, The Author Regrets Nothing, The Author Still Knows Nothing About Medicine, Think Venom but Hornier, Tooth-Rotting Fluff, Your Feral Wolf-Lady Is Going Into Heat, awkward dirty talk, lots of scenting, what does that even mean?, zero angst
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-11-09
Updated: 2021-01-28
Packaged: 2021-03-09 04:00:08
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 7
Words: 64,913
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27478435
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ProtonBeam/pseuds/ProtonBeam
Summary: What happens when you wake up and find yourself mated? Dr. Ben Solo's new mate is everything he never knew he needed. She's fierce, stubborn, and witty. Her file was dropped off on his desk merely a week ago. Now that he's unravelled the mystery of her condition and found himself a newly presented Alpha ... she's going into her first heat.Come along on Dr. Solo's first heat/rut adventure to Anchorage. Watch him fumble. Watch him knot. Watch him make an adorkable ass of himself.Heat Log: Dr. Ben Solo has no idea what he's doing. But he's going to figure it out for his Omega dammit.
Relationships: Kylo Ren/Rey, Rey/Ben Solo, Rey/Ben Solo | Kylo Ren
Series: Patient Zero [2]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/2076069
Comments: 322
Kudos: 427





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> This was … inevitable. Not letting Dr. Solo boink would have been a travesty. Yes, I used the word boink. 
> 
> If you’re new here, this is part 2 of the budding adventures of Dr. Ben Solo and his Alpha. If you haven’t read part 1, you can do so here: [Patient Zero](https://archiveofourown.org/works/25829605/chapters/62748982).
> 
> Side Note: in case the title of the work confuses you, it's a call back to the research paper Rey was working on in part 1 and _will_ play a role in the plot.
> 
> So without further ado … a very groggy Dr. Solo wakes up mated.

Ben wakes up groggy, feeling like he’s slept for days. He’s so out of it he’s unsure where he even is. There’s a warm body beneath him, cold air hitting his exposed ass, the soft beeping of an ECG like he’s at work. He’s butt naked below the waist, skin pressed against much softer skin. His dick’s flaccid but resting against a thatch of soft curls and a sticky, welcoming warmth. Beneath him the body stirs with a soft moan.  
  
He yawns in response, rolling over to find (a little too late) there is no ‘over’ to roll onto. Scrambling and flailing like a newborn gazelle to stop the inevitable fall only to land flat on his ass anyway.  
  
The angle gives him a new perspective. Namely that he’s in a hospital room. Nay, _the_ hospital room.   
  
The bright fluorescent lights in the space compete with the natural daylight streaming in through the window. There’s a messy pile of blankets inconspicuously tucked into the corner beneath said window that somehow makes his chest swell with pride. The thin linoleum floor tiles under his naked ass are cold and unrelenting. And, underpinning it all, like the string that ties all clues together is a scent. A warm vanilla with jasmine bouquet that’s now bloomed to include what he can only describe as the scent of _home_ . Something inherently _him.  
  
_ There’s a soft moan from above, one he could now recognize anywhere. The dog whistle that calls out just to him.  
  
 _Rey.  
  
_ _Shit.  
  
_ Snippets of memory come rushing in all at once. Little conscious moments. Of acceptance. Of sloppy kisses. Of haphazardly torn clothes and fumbling fingers. Of being buried inside the most perfect woman that’s ever graced this earth. Of a bite...  
  
He quickly stands up feeling a surge of protective energy course through him. An undeniable compulsion to protect what’s _his_.   
  
**_We’re doing THAT again.  
  
_ ** And then there’s that guy...  
  
 _Think you could chill for a moment?  
  
_ **_Mmm, no. Want mate.  
  
_ ** **_Again again again!  
  
_ ** He scrambles to his feet, ignoring his Alpha’s ramblings now that he’s got a relatively clear head. Sure, he’ll need the input again in the near future, but for now it’s nice to think things through as just Ben. Even if there’s the possibility of the Alpha injecting his own opinions.  
  
Uncoordinated steps carrying him to his pants, completely unbothered by his own state of undress nor that of the precious woman laying in her hospital bed. Not paying mind to the way her gown is rucked up to expose most of her body lopsidedly, one small, perky breast exposed while the other is covered by the rumpled material. The blanket having shifted to barely cover her privates, most likely during his (graceful) descent.  
  
She’s dreaming peacefully. A content smile on her face and soft snores escaping her as she smacks her lips.  
  
He works his legs into his boxers and pants, watching her sleep with equal parts fascination and dread. Watching her chest rise and fall, her brows twitch and her eyes shift beneath her closed lids. Unable to believe he’d done _that_ with _her_ and she’d _wanted_ it.  
  
Ben sighs. Like his Alpha, he’d definitely like to do _that_ again.  
  
But this place isn’t safe. What happened between them was a necessity. The appetizer to the main course. Just enough medication to placate their condition temporarily. To quiet the insistent voices in their heads and give them reprieve from their symptoms. And that was just to shut the Alpha up. The need to protect her has already begun itching in his veins and tickling his brainstem. He _needs_ to get her home where he can take care of her properly.   
  
Even if he’s still not 100% sure what that entails exactly.  
  
As he shimmies his pants up, as his belt clinks obnoxiously breaking the silence room, he sees her eyes flutter open. A dreamy smile tugging at the corners of her mouth when their gazes meet.  
  
“Hi,” she yawns, reaching her arms lazily over her head. It’s a luxurious stretch, like a cat after a nap. Complete with a delectable head roll that releases an invisible plume of that intoxicating scent. The minute she stretches her neck to the left, a hiss of pain sizzles in the air and her fingers reach to rub her trapezius.  
  
 _Right. Trapezius...  
  
_ That jolts his own memory. Ben releases his belt in favour of checking the slope of his own neck to … yep, his ‘mating gland’ is tender with little raised welts he assumes (correctly) are teeth marks.   
  
The resulting smile that blooms on his face is ... inevitable.  
  
If you’d have asked him a week ago whether being bitten was a kink of his, he would have told you to fuck off. His skin is littered with moles as is. More marks is definitely _not_ something he’d like to add to his already imperfect canvas. And yet, somehow, running his fingers idly over the little raised bumps her teeth left, he can’t help but feel a sense of accomplishment. Security, completion, _happiness._   
  
A comfortable rumble starts to build in his chest.  
  
Yes. He’d let her bite him any day of the week.  
  
 **_Mate.  
  
_ ** “Hi,” he smiles back softly.  
  
She looks down to see her disheveled state, that soft smile turning into a scowl as she scrambles to pull the blanket up and right her gown for a sliver of modesty.  
  
Ben fishes inside his pant pocket to pull out the little amber bottle he’d gotten from the pharmacy … how long ago? What time is it even?  
  
“Here,” he rattles one out into his hand, secures the lid and tosses it onto the bed, “take one now. Quickly.”  
  
“What is it?” she asks, lazily pushing herself up into a sitting position.   
  
It’s amazing what listening to his Alpha has accomplished, despite his unwillingness to relinquish control. She’d been in pain. Delirious with want and calling for an Alpha he’d withheld from her for far too long. One woefully inadequate fuck (he _wishes_ he could have taken his time) in a hospital bed and she looks like a million bucks. Correction, a _dishevelled_ million bucks.  
  
Her hair is a glorious mess and her lips have a kiss stung pout that’s utterly delectable. Who’d have thought fucking in a tiny hospital bed could render a person so utterly debauched? Who’d have thought seeing her so utterly wrecked could get his dick stirring again so quickly?  
  
Tucking his shirt tails into his pants (and _deliberately_ ignoring his growing problem) he casually answers, “something to keep the voice at bay until we can get you home.”  
  
She cocks her head but he can see her working the cap. Sees her deposit a pill into her hand and toss it back, swallowing it dry like the champ she is. Watching her surrender to his request sets off a swell of pride in his chest.  
  
 **_Such a good Omega. Isn’t she?  
  
_ ** “That chat I had with Ezra,” he starts rummaging through the room, finding her purse and the clothes she’d arrived in, “apparently what’s going to happen… _is happening,_ is called a heat slash rut?”  
  
Her leggings and a chunky green sweater get flung onto the hospital bed.   
  
_Where is her underwear?  
  
_ “Ben, don’t be ridiculous,” she makes a disbelieving sound, somewhere between a chortle and a snicker, “we’re humans not … animals.”  
  
“Yeah, well,” _where the fuck…_ “tell that to your Omega or my Alpha. Or my _fucking knot._ ”  
  
He turns to her then, to gauge her reaction only to find that she’s magically found her underthings hidden between her folded leggings and sweater. _Good._   
  
She’s staring at her clothes, holding up her skimpy little bralette as if she’s considering it for purchase, decidedly _not_ getting dressed. Face contorted in thought and brows heavily knitted.  
  
“I’ve drafted your release papers and as of,” he continues, dammit he _really_ needs to check the time, “fuck I don’t know, just … you’re released. I’m taking you home.”  
  
For a few moments he’s frozen, staring at his precious mate. A brief pause where neither he nor that obnoxious Alpha voice in his head have any additional thoughts. Simply existing in her orbit. Basking in the glory of the magnetic star that’s managed to capture his directionless body. Given him renewed purpose, a new trajectory.  
  
He has a mate.  
  
Fuck if that doesn’t feel fantastic!  
  
And she? Well, she looks … oddly content. Trusting and open. Hands dropping onto the pile of clothes in front of her, the little bralette scrunched up in her loose fists. She’s looking to him for answers and safe-keeping. A trust he won’t take lightly nor slack on, he vows to himself.  
  
Swallowing thickly, he pulls his phone out of his pant pocket for a time check, noting happily that it’s only been about an hour since he remembers walking the halls to her room. An hour that’s felt like a lifetime ago because an hour ago, he was a confused mess of jagged emotions and a primal hunger only she could sate. An hour ago he walked in with the intent of taking her back to her home and spending his time taking care of her (the way Ezra suggested). An hour ago he didn’t think he’d have fucked her in a hospital bed or bitten her.  
  
 **_We’re mated.  
  
_ ** _Shut up.  
  
_ **_Doesn’t make it less true. Feels amazing. Doesn’t it?  
  
_ ** He feels a yawn bubble in his chest but it doesn’t manifest. It only seems to placate that _other_ voice inside.   
  
Good. Maybe that antipsychotic is working.   
  
“Are you ready?” he asks, anxiety starting to build and making him jumpy.  
  
“You’re kidding,” her head cocks and their eyes meet. “I’m still hooked up to all your doctoring contraptions.” To make her point, she flails her arms comically to rankle the various tubes.  
  
With an unnecessary sigh and a press of his lips, Ben makes his way over to her side. Flips off the ECG, unclamps her pulse ox, and carefully works the IV out of her vein. Handling her warm wrist gently, like she’s fragile as he fixes her bandages around the entry point.  
  
“There,” he places a soft kiss to the bandage, grabs her clothes with his free hand and presses them into her lap before he takes a small step back, “now will you get dressed? Please?”  
  
“Some privacy?”  
  
Ben doesn’t move. He can’t. Looking at her, keeping her close feels as necessary as breathing. And making sure they’re on track has become his single point of obsession.  
  
“Can I change in peace?” she balks incredulously when he doesn’t budge.  
  
His only response is a growl, unhappy with her flippant tone.  
  
“Oy, relax,” she shoots him a pointed look, “just … turn around so I can get myself put together.”  
  
“I’ve seen you naked,” he fixes her with a patronizing glare.  
  
It’s true. Does he remember? Not much. He’d like to try this again _without_ the soft edged film of this … _rut_ business. Really take his time and memorize every inch of her. Every freckle on her body. Every dip and curve. The gentle way her skin gives. He’s got a vague sense of having _liked_ those things, would just like the opportunity to properly map them out consciously.  
  
And that’s going to happen as soon as they get her to Anchorage. So it’s imperative they move quickly. Right now.  
  
Besides, they have a flight to catch. Time is of the essence.  
  
“Half,” she retorts drily, “and if you’d like to see me that way again I suggest you turn around. _Now._ ”  
  
He grumbles in the negative, displeased at her tone even if he knows she doesn’t mean it in the slightest.   
  
To be fair, he doesn’t _mean_ to be so snippy with her. In fact, he’d love nothing more than to roll those panties up her bare legs himself. Maybe bend her over and _knot_ her again just to be good and sure he’s doing this right. Not that he has much recollection, but from what he _does_ remember, this _knotting_ business feels fucking spectacular. So mind blowingly good both of them zonked out almost immediately and slept for what feels like a lifetime.  
  
Except he feels like he’s on a timed mission and every wasted minute not completing a milestone towards their goal feels … risky.  
  
“Ben,” she runs her fingers through her messy hair, “I … I trust you, remember? And I’ll get dressed, I will. I’ll follow whatever plan you’ve got, just … please keep me in the loop?”  
  
“Fine,” he huffs frustratedly, “I got us tickets to Anchorage. Our flight leaves at 4.”  
  
She seems to consider the implications of ‘us’ and ‘our’, a ghost of a smile flitting across her face before he hears her sigh. “We’ll miss Cops,” she teases. God he lo- _no no no no time for that shit.  
  
_ **_I almost liked you better before we claimed our mate.  
  
_ ** _Well la-dee-dah, you’re breaking my heart.  
  
_ **_At least you were in tune with your emotions...  
  
_ ** “No time for jokes, sweetheart,” he turns around, giving her the privacy she’d requested in favour of rummaging through her purse looking for her keys (why are women’s purses such bottomless pits?!), “we still need to swing by my place so I can pack a few things.”  
  
Is he panicking? Maybe.   
  
There’s something about the situation that’s grating him. Setting off his fight instinct (his flight instinct is nowhere to be found ... a conversation he’d _like_ to have with his SNS just as soon as his nerves settle). He’s tense to the point of tight muscles, a clenched jaw and an unbearable need to hole her up in a secluded cave. If he’s pulling his own hair trying to stave off unnecessarily aggressive impulses, well, that’s neither here nor there.  
  
A warm hand squeezes his shoulder.  
  
“Ben?”  
  
“Yeah,” he turns around frazzled to see she’s fully dressed standing before him. Her stormy hazel eyes glittering like they’ve got all the time in the world.   
  
“When will you stop being on edge? Hmm? When we’re at your place packing? The cab? The plane?”  
  
He works his lips considering. None of those sound safe. In fact, there’s only _one_ place he considers safe.  
  
“Probably your place when I know you’re safe.”  
  
“And is that _you_ talking? Or your … Alpha?”  
  
Well, isn’t that just the question of the hour?   
  
Realistically, he knows it’s the Alpha. He also knows the Alpha’s been silenced momentarily by the drug. And yet, somehow, the intense need to protect her hasn’t waned. He wants to cocoon her in his own body, find a cave in the middle of the mountains and bar the entrance with immovable (he hasn’t worked out the physics of this fantasy yet, okay?) boulders. Lock her away from the rest of the world until he knows no one can get to her because she’s _his_ .  
  
He releases a long drawn out exhale. “I honestly don’t know,” he mutters wistfully, leaning in to kiss her forehead softly. If there’s a soft rumble emanating from his chest, eeh, who’s gonna judge him.  
  
“Alright, well…” her arms wrap around his waist and pull him closer, “I’m ready when you are.”  
  
 **_Scent her.  
  
_ ** His Alpha yawns again.  
  
 _What does that even mean?  
  
_ **_Lick her scent gland. The little ones on her neck. Both of them.  
  
_ ** “M-my Alpha,” he starts, hands curling protectively around her back, “he’s telling me to scent you.”  
  
 **_Mating bite is too new.  
  
_ ** _That doesn’t even…  
  
_ **_Make sure mate is safe. We cover her scent in ours so everyone knows she’s taken.  
  
_ ** Another yawn from the voice.  
  
And doesn’t the weirdest thing happen just then. After a brief moment of deliberation, he feels her nod against his chest and a soft rumble begins to vibrate against his belly.   
  
He would have thought it was himself, having become intimately familiar with the sound of a rolling marble echoing in the cavity of his chest. Except it’s not him. He’s _already_ rolling the proverbial marble. This new rumble is higher pitched, faster. Distinctly … feminine.  
  
 **_Mate is happy.  
  
_ ** _Is that what this is?  
  
_ **_Purring means happy.  
  
_ ** The Alpha voice yawns again. His delivery sloppy and slurred. The drugs must be working.  
  
 _Ha. Purring. We’ve turned into fucking cats. Horny fucking felines...  
  
_ “My Omega says that would be nice,” she answers softly, warm breath heating his pectoral, “on one condition.”  
  
“Mmm,” he tucks her head under his chin, “anything you want.”  
  
And it’s true. She could ask him for the moon and he’d go hybrid Despicable Me / Dr. Frankenstein until he’d figured out how to deliver. He’d raze armies for her, scorch the ground and split heaven and earth at her behest.   
  
Okay, he’s being overly dramatic but the fact still stands. He’d give her anything and everything.  
  
Him. Dr. Ben Solo. The guy who can’t even let Holdo wish him ‘chag sameach’ without throwing back an underhanded jab. The guy who’s never given anything but a perfect diagnosis would willingly give his left arm just to see his mate smile.  
  
“We get to scent you back,” she squeezes his waist, cheek rubbing into his chest like she’s marking her territory.  
  
The rumble in his chest becomes louder. Vibrating him down to the tips of his fingers and curling his toes.  
  
 _We like this?  
  
_ **_*dreamy sigh*  
  
_ ** _I’ll take that as a yes, then.  
  
_ With permission granted, Ben ducks his head into the crook of her neck, nosing at the epicenter of that delicious scent. Lips connecting to suckle it gently. He swipes the flat of his tongue over the gland, making sure to both gulp down every drop of nectar it provides and to leave a thin coat of saliva behind.   
  
**_Ohhh yeah. Just like that.  
  
_ ** He finishes by placing a soft kiss to the gland. One that elicits a full body shudder and a loud rumble from her. With the gentlest touch, he maneuvers her head, placing chaste kisses along her jaw until he reaches the other side to repeat this … _scenting_ . This one he swipes his tongue over carefully so as not to irritate her stitches. Sure they’ve begun to dissolve but this precious gland needs to be nurtured back to health and he’s going to work his hardest to make sure it heals unscarred.  
  
He should have _never_ allowed that surgery to happen. Should have _never_ let Dr. Hux slice her open —   
  
**_Told you so…  
  
_ ** — but then he would have never discovered they were glands. And by extension, would have never set off the series of events that would have led to him binding his soul to this precious creature whose essence tastes like pure sunlight.  
  
“My turn,” she murmurs.   
  
He bends down lower, keeping her body caged between his arms while tilting his head in offering. There’s something submissive yet completely right about the motion. And if that weren’t enough, bending to his Omega’s will … there’s the added zing of pleasure her lips elicit the moment they make contact with his gland.  
  
Ben squeezes his eyes shut and forces himself to ignore the wave of arousal. The way her lips and tongue feel soft and warm against the sensitive skin there. The way each suckle sends a shock of desire that tingles down to the marrow of his bones.  
  
 **_Wish you didn’t take that pill now, huh?  
  
_ ** _You’re slurring.  
  
_ **_You drugged me.  
  
_ ** _Ha! Sue me…  
  
_ She trails a series of kisses across his neck, mirroring his scenting until she’s sucked, laved and pecked her way to the other gland which she lavishes with equal attention. When she finishes, she places a soft kiss to his mating gland.  
  
Objectively he’s aware that it’s just kisses. Little licks and pecks placed on these tiny little mutated glands on their necks to serve a (probably) calming purpose. But it feels better than any sex he’s ever had. Correction — with the exception of his most recent. An act he’d like to indulge in again. Soon.  
  
Fuck, he’s hard.  
  
 _Shit, scenting was a terrible idea.  
  
_ Silence. Crickets.  
  
Dammit, he kinda misses that fucker.  
  
“How are you feeling?” he tries. Arms still wrapped tightly around her and keeping her flush with his (perfectly) scarred gland.  
  
“Better,” she presses another kiss to the marred flesh, “tell me about this pill? What did we just take?”  
  
“Don’t get mad,” he warns, fingers spanning across her back, appreciating the way one hand practically spans the width of her, “it’s called Abilify. It’s an antipsychotic to … uh … it’s a drug commonly used to manage symptoms of schizophrenia. T-to keep the voice down. It was a spur of the moment decision. Testing a hypothesis.”  
  
She huffs a laugh and the heat of it against his gland sends a zing straight to his dick. Traitorous fuck!  
  
“Smart.” A beat of silent contentment between them. “You seem much calmer.”  
  
“So do you.”  
  
Her head lifts off his chest, an inch of distance turns to two, turns to five. “I’m ready when you are,” her eyes drift up to his.  
  
With one last kiss to her forehead, he lets her go. Interlaces their fingers and gives them a gentle squeeze.  
  
“Let’s go.”

  
  


…

  
  


Apparently this scenting business works.  
  
As does mating?  
  
He definitely doesn’t feel quite as on edge, quite as feral as he did hours ago. Before he’d let himself be carried away by whatever it is they’ve caught. Before he turned his body over to his (currently snoring) Alpha.   
  
Rey, too, seems much better off, and it’s not just her mood.   
  
Her laundry list of ailments has dissipated. Resolved like he’d given her a magic pill. Her body temperature’s still elevated judging by the warmth of her hand, but it’s much more acceptable. Her glands don’t appear as swollen or weepy. She’s talking casually as they stroll down the streets of Coruscant to his house. Asking light hearted questions about where he’d gotten those cold rolls and whether he has a local place for some bibingka because she’s been jonesing a slice since her days in university.  
  
Also, holding hands.  
  
 _They’re_ holding hands.  
  
 _Dr. Ben Solo_ , prick extraordinaire who can’t nail a date to save his life, who can’t get laid unless there’s something on offer … that guy. He’s holding hands. With a woman.  
  
Correction. With a _willing_ woman.  
  
With his mate.  
  
 _He_ has a mate.  
  
Dr. Ben Solo has a mate.  
  
God his mother would shit a brick. He should probably tell her. But then, what does it even mean? To have a mate?  
  
Other than the overbearing need to protect and fuck and pup her (and he still has to work out exactly what ‘pupping’ is despite his Alpha’s insistent grunting that it’s ‘the peak of their existence’), nothing _feels_ different. If he sniffs the air carefully he picks up the lingering scent of her on him. So having a mate is like having someone you’re fiercely territorial over who smells like you and you smell like them? Is it like an exclusivity contract bound in blood and teeth marks? How long does it even last?  
  
Crickets from the voice.  
  
 _Fuck! Could really use your input right now buddy.  
  
_ Well, no matter. He won’t tell his mother just yet. Whatever this is, he can only assume she’d start pestering him for grandkids. A habit she picked up from bubbee who apparently hounded _her_ for grandkids. Like a rite of passage for the women in his family.  
  
He’ll have to have a talk of that caliber with her at some point, but for now, he’s got a woman _willingly_ holding his hand. No, wait, that’s putting it too lightly. She’s gripping him like he’s her lifeline. Like he’s her everything and it feels glorious and they’re on their way to his house where he’ll pack a few things because he’s taking her home and they’ll be alone and she _wants_ that.  
  
Ha! Take that _Suzy_ who didn’t want to go to the winter dance with him. Twirl your glorious french braided pigtails at _that_ . Someone wants him. Someone is _willingly_ holding his hand … and he didn’t have to put up dunkaroos as collateral for it.   
  
When they get to his house she foregoes the typical ‘wow you live _this_ close to work? Don’t you know about work-life balance?’ in favour of oohing and aahing over his piano and medical textbooks lining his shelves. Her dainty fingers caressing the spines reverently, turning to him with a beaming smile every now and then. Like she approves.  
  
 _Finally_ someone who appreciates his accomplishments.  
  
Alas, as much as he’d love to regale her with tales of his medical prowess, inflate his ego and impress her with his encyclopedic mind, they’ve got a plane to catch. So he gently ushers her into his bedroom where she plunks herself down on his bed while he pulls out the overnight he’d shoved into the closet the night before.   
  
Or, tries to, at least. She’s distracting. _Very_ distracting. The way she’s all but snuggled into his bed, rolling in his messy sheets that he’d…  
  
 _Oh shit.  
  
_ Still crickets from his Alpha.  
  
“Mmmmh, Alpha,” she purrs, “s-smells so good.”  
  
Yeah. The unmade bed from this morning, the one he’d apparently abused the shit out of the night before when he’d masturbated himself into Morpheus’ arms. The one he’d experienced a … what had his Alpha called it? A soft rut, that’s right. Apparently that’s doing things to her?   
  
And, by extension, him. Because the sight of her rolling around in his sheets is the sexiest fucking thing he’s seen in his entire life (porn be damned). Naturally, he finds himself aroused (yet again).  
  
To top it all off, there’s a niggling feeling tickling the back of his brain. Like witnessing deja vu from the outside. Like he’s seen this before but can’t quite place the memory.  
  
Until she spreads herself out like a starfish on her stomach and starts purring. That’s when the memory washes in with obscene clarity.   
  
He’d done the exact same thing the night he’d spent at her place.  
  
Things are starting to make sense now. Previously inexplicable urges, impulses and actions that didn’t fit into his neat little boxes are now starting to make sense ... despite the horny haze that’s starting to manifest.  
  
“Rey,” he forces her name out of his dry throat, trying his damndest to focus on grabbing enough underwear and socks, “sweetheart, I need you to control yourself. Can you do that for me?”  
  
She freezes on the bed, stopping mid motion like a deer in headlights. Pushes herself up to a wooden sitting position almost immediately, hands wringing a rumpled bed sheet. Legs crossing like his hippie college roommate who insisted that’s how the best conversations were held.   
  
“Sorry,” she titters nervously, “the voice is gone but the urge is still kind of there. It just smells so…”  
  
She lifts his sheet to her nose and inhales deeply, letting her eyelids flutter closed and releasing the most inhuman moan he’s ever heard. “It smells _incredible._ ”  
  
Well, that’s preposterous. There’s only _one_ thing that smells incredible. And that’s her. Frankly, he can’t see how those sheets could smell anything other than disgusting. He’d been a sweaty sticky mess when he woke up, so he can only assume they smell like BO and dried cum.  
  
That’s night and day from the decadent floral vanilla she’s made of.  
  
“Help me pack?” he mindlessly offers something to keep her occupied while he throws a few henleys her way.  
  
“You’re kidding,” her mouth drops into what he can only place as shocked disbelief.  
  
“Would you rather keep rolling around?”  
  
“Well ... don’t get used to it,” she scoffs wagging a finger at him, “mate or not, whatever _that_ means, I’m not going to be packing your bags and making your lunches.”  
  
 _Aah, there she is. The force of nature that stole his heart.  
  
_ “Wouldn’t dream of it,” he throws over his shoulder proudly. Because she’s amazing and she’s strong and she’s his and oh God he’s definitely hard.  
  
He makes quick work of pulling out two pairs of sweats and two pairs of jeans. Grabbing the packable jacket he’d gotten at Costco, two thick sweaters, a stack of tees, and tossing the toiletry bag he’d never fully unpacked onto the bed.  
  
Kissing her forehead, her small body surrounded by a sea of his things, he murmurs, “gonna go print off these tickets, okay?”  
  
“Oh my _God_ ,” she squeals indignantly, “you _do_ expect me to pack your bag.”  
  
“I don’t,” okay maybe he _was_ hoping she would, “if you want, you can just sit here. I’ll take care of packing after I print the tickets. I’ll be right back. Alright?”  
  
Rey purses her lips, eyeing him wearily. And yet, despite her apparent skepticism, she manages to reach out and close her hand around the collar of his blazer. It immediately elicits two opposing trains of thought:  
  
One, he wants to fuck her right there, in his filthy bed, right this instant. Two, he’s reminded of his need to change into something more flight appropriate. Two _vastly_ different thoughts at war with one another for dominance.  
  
“And if I pack your bag?”  
  
 _Then you’d be saving us time.  
  
_ “Then I’d be indebted to you.”  
  
“Oh? Is that so...” she drawls, eyebrows raising mischievously, “you’d owe me … _anything_?”  
  
Dammit he wants to fuck her. And that’s not even his Alpha talking. That guy’s taking the nap of his life. No. That’s just Ben. Ben wants to fuck Rey, right here, right now, in his bed. Flight be damned.  
  
“Anything,” he promises, like before. Tamping down his arousal because he’s _going to do this right dammit.  
  
_ With a playful grin, he pecks her hard on the lips and tears himself away before he does something that’ll cost them more time than they have.  
  
He checks them in on his computer … while giving his relentless erection a squeeze.  
  
He upgrades them to business class … while he grips the base of his dick for relief through his pants.  
  
He hits print on each ticket in turn … while thinking of the most unsexy things in a bid to curb the raging problem threatening to tear through his slacks.  
  
It doesn’t work. Everytime he tries to conjure one of Holdo’s long nasal lectures his mind automatically interjects with an image of Rey, naked on his bed. He tries to dredge up memories of bunions, a case of genital warts, an anal abscess, a particularly oozy staph infection he'd had to drain a few months ago ... nothing … all falling flat before they can materialize.  
  
Nothing works. It’s her scent that’s snaking its way out of the bedroom to tickle his nostrils (and by extension, his dick).  
  
So when he finally _does_ make his way back to his bedroom, he’s settled for (begrudgingly) tucking himself into the waistband of his boxers so he doesn’t assault his poor mate with visions of his uncooperative dick. It would be a shame, after all, to lose out on a week’s worth of mind blowing sex with a woman who makes him salivate because he’s coming across too eager.   
  
It doesn’t help that she looks absolutely, positively, undeniably fuckable the minute he turns the corner to his bedroom.   
  
She’s perched on the edge of the bed, one leg crossed over the other, leaning back on her elbows. The bed is devoid of any garments, so he assumes she’s managed to pack all his belongings away. But it’s the _way_ she’s casually lounging back biting her lip, doing that slow blinking thing again...  
  
“I put your liquids into the side compartment so we don’t waste time going through screening,” she tilts her head suggestively, rolling her ankle, “so … I’m ready to claim my reward now.”  
  
Does he gulp? Yep. Loudly.  
  
The ‘L’ word is dangerously close to bursting out of his throat. She’s managed to surprise him yet again with her efficiency … and her existence. Which absolutely floors him. Still.  
  
All he manages to say (squeak, it’s a squeak) is, “oh?”  
  
“Mmhmm,” her voice is husky and fuck he might come right there in his pants, “do you know how _hard_ it was? Hmm? Trying to concentrate on folding your giant clothes … surrounded by this … _fuck_ I don’t understand how you smell so good. Why isn’t this pill working?”  
  
“I,” he swallows a mouthful of too-sweet air. Is it possible he can _taste_ her arousal? “T-the pill doesn’t seem to work on scent,” he tries to sound composed and _not_ as unhinged as he feels, “only on the voice. For scents I’ve got a theory on nasal steroids.”  
  
“Shhh,” she swats her arm in the air sitting up, “less doctor, more Ben. C’mere.”  
  
Oh how little she knows about him.   
  
He won’t tell her that being socially awkward, falling back on facts _is_ his modus operandi. Or, at least the MO of a very nervous Ben.   
  
No. He’d like to maintain the _illusion_ of grandeur. Continue to present himself in a favourable light because … who’d want the awkward gangly teen with a penchant for correcting any and all misquotations? Who’d want the guy who simply can’t help being a smartass with a mean streak _and_ the world’s most dominant snark gene? Who’d want the guy whose brain is the backup copy of Wikipedia?  
  
So he tries to keep it cool as he approaches her. Tries to keep his shit together as he lays the printed tickets onto the bed and hunches forward to swipe his thumb over her cheek.  
  
“Thank you,” it comes out breathless.  
  
 _Nice. Good control, casual tone if not a bit needy. Easy peasy.  
  
_ Her hand comes up to caress his hip, thumb stroking just over where his bone juts out above his belt.  
  
“So,” she leans forward near his crotch, inhaling deeply, “reward?”  
  
He’s gonna blow. It’s simple science. If you excite a molecule enough, it’ll burst. He’s a molecule. She’s the kinetic energy doing the aforementioned exciting. If she were a lit flame, her proximity is setting him on fire. And right now her face and hands are close to a body part he’s been ignoring despite its insistent state.  
  
“Of course,” he gulps again, squeezing his eyes shut like that’ll magically make his dick deflate. Like not looking is going to negate the unchecked lust in her eyes.   
  
It’s a little trick his therapist suggested he employ alongside breathing to regain control of spiralling emotions. Because apparently that helps.   
  
When he opens them, he’s met with the most erotic thing he’s seen. _Ever.  
  
_ She’s unbuckling his belt like she’s savouring the act. Begins nosing at his crotch and bumping the head of his cock with her nose, her lips, her cheek … he’s not even sure how he’s going to manage to get them back on track if she actually takes him out of his textile prison.  
  
 _So much for breathing through spiralling emotions.  
  
_ Her free hand runs up his stomach, pulling his shirt up with it. “Off,” she commands.  
  
“Sweetheart, I don’t think this is a good idea,” a noble string of words from the man who’s currently unbuttoning his shirt with desirous fingers (shaky, his fingers are shaking like leaves).  
  
“We’ll take another pill,” she shrugs indifferently, mouthing at his boxers the minute she’s flared his pants open, “I promise. Just … I _need_ to taste where this smell is coming from.”  
  
“Rey,” he warns while messily shucking his shirt and blazer off in one jagged motion, “I can’t fuck you … and don’t get me wrong, I _really_ want to. I’m just worried we won’t make the flight if I do.”  
  
Spoken words contrary to actions. Coming from the man who’s now completely topless getting his crotch mauled and slobbered by the sexiest woman on the planet.  
  
“Bold assumption,” she snorts softly, “but that’s not what I want.”  
  
He opens his mouth to answer … but can’t.   
  
Her teeth scrape over his clothed cockhead, hot breath making him twitch in anticipation. Maybe he groans, he’s not sure. His ears are ringing and he can barely follow the string of events that led to him being half naked with her nipping his boxers.  
  
“No fucking,” she promises, her small fingers curling under his waistband to set him free. Looping further around his sides to pull his pants and boxers down in one smooth motion. Letting his heavy erection loll against her cheek while his pants settle around his ankles.  
  
“I just want to taste you,” she murmurs, “please?”  
  
The minute she’s wrapped her fingers around the base of his cock, the minute she’s flattened her tongue and taken a long, luxurious lick up his entire length, the moment their eyes meet he becomes suddenly aware that her pupils have half-swallowed her irises. She’s not _quite_ under the influence of her Omega, but she’s not _not_ either. Or maybe she's just _actually_ horny for him? That's a train of thought he can't consolidate. No one's looked at him with _this_ much lust in their eyes so it's _got_ to be the Omega _._  
  
“Okay,” he whimpers, _fucking whimpers_ , “what can I do?”  
  
She huffs a laugh, one that makes him twitch in her hand. “Really?”  
  
Does he gulp? Yep. Audibly.  
  
Does he run his fingers through her hair like she’s the most precious thing alive? Also, yep.  
  
She presses her lips against the darker skin of his knot. It has the unintended effect of making him spring a leak of arousal. A thick bead of precome forming at the tip and oozing down onto her hand.   
  
He also moans. Loudly. The choked type because his body can’t quite decide whether to inhale or exhale.  
  
“You don’t have to do anything. Just enjoy,” she murmurs huskily. Her tongue darting out to smooth across the circumference of his _knot_ . “And no smartassing.”  
  
She’s not even looking at him but he’s nodding fervently. Slack jawed and wide eyed because he’s frozen in a state of horny shock. Body vibrating like a dog waiting for his bone.   
  
Her tongue trails up his length coating him in a thin layer of her warm saliva. Pressing delicate kisses here and there until she’s satisfied she’s marked him up. She begins to suckle on his head, lapping softly and moaning. Fingers closing around his unserviced girth to set a slow, easy stroke. It’s the most luxurious head he’s ever received in his life. Lacks the usual forced enthusiasm in favour of _actual_ enthusiasm.  
  
He wants to tell her she doesn’t have to do this. That he’s more than happy to hold off until they get to her house in Anchorage. That she shouldn’t feel obligated because his dick and his brain obviously run on two different operating systems. That it feels incredible and her mouth is the best thing he’s ever felt. That if she stops he might implode.  
  
Instead he whimpers again. A pathetic, broken little whimper accompanied by breathy pleas of “ _Rey_ ,” and “ _oh God_ ,” and “ _f-fuuuuck_.”  
  
If his upper body is starting to bow over her, if his fingers thread through her hair to massage her scalp … well. She’s _very_ good at this okay?  
  
He should be embarrassed. Should feel mortified by how quickly she’s managed to unravel him and strip him of not just his clothes, but his insufferable diagnostician shell. That she not only gets to bear witness to the pitiful sounds he’s making but that she’s also the cause of them.   
  
If he had any more available neurons, he might wonder if she’ll ever use this against him in the future.   
  
But he doesn’t.  
  
Instead he opts for rolling his hips in time with her strokes despite his better judgement. Mostly because he can’t help himself. She’s started taking him deeper, bobbing down his length further with every mind melting stroke. The welcome heat and silky warmth of her mouth has become his own personal brand of catnip.   
  
The way she sucks his dick is sloppy and slobbery. Her drool working its way down his shaft to drip onto his balls and further onto his thighs. Like a little stream of saliva that’s sprung a leak and just keeps gushing. There’s no show. No performance. It’s artless and beautiful inspite of it.  
  
It’s the best fucking head he’s ever gotten in his life.  
  
And the way she moans!  
  
The way she caresses his hips and stomach, runs her hands between his legs to gently cradle his balls and stroke featherlight touches across his knot. Like she can’t decide on just where to settle her hands so she makes due with touching every part of him. It makes his skin prickle and his knees buckle.  
  
With a wet slurp, she pulls off him. Hand setting the perfect stroke to keep him on the edge she’s just brought him to. “I don’t know what’s happened to my taste buds,” she kisses his hip bone, presses a series of little pecks near his dick, “but … you taste amazing.”  
  
“Y-yeah?”  
  
It’s about as much language as he can muster.  
  
“Mmhmm,” she looks up at him with a devilish smile, “what’s wrong Dr. Bonaparte? Cat got your tongue?”  
  
He lets out a braying sort of laugh, awkwardly tinged with a hefty dose of horny.  
  
“Why don’t you finish what you started,” he breathes, “hmm? And maybe if you’re lucky I’ll let you ride my fingers.”  
  
“Nuh uh,” she shakes her head, lips running over his _too_ sensitive cockhead, “I’ve only got this one pair of tights and undies. And I’ve already stuffed plenty of TP in there to deal with the … _slick_ ,” she accentuates the last word derisively.  
  
 _Slick? What the fuck is that? Is that like a British-ism for being wet?  
  
_ He’d like to ask. He really would. Except she’s sinking back down, taking him almost all the way to the root. A tiny grunt, a muffled gag, and a tight squeeze around his shaft leave him woefully incapable of forming coherent sentences.  
  
She sets a steady pace, moaning noisily like she’s enjoying a decadent dessert. The suction and pressure of her ministrations is nothing short of divine. Driving him to the very brink of an explosive orgasm. He feels his abs flex. Feels his balls pull up tight ready to release. Feels the skin of his newly formed _knot_ begin to swell as blood flows freely to the area.  
  
He’s tilting his hips into her, tiny little thrusts to match her sloppy bobbing. Body still half curled over her, shaky hands continually brushing non-existent baby hairs out of her face and into the lopsided pony he’s collected because he’s a _gentleman_ dammit.  
  
Every so often his thumb brushes her hollowed cheek, the feel of which makes him twitch in her mouth. Which elicits a tiny whimper from her. Which, in turn, she recovers from by focusing her attention on his head, swirling her tongue and tickling his frenulum.  
  
He’s been reduced to open mouthed moans. Loud and long exhaled sighs of ecstasy. Incoherent babbles of her name peppered between a litany of curse words because he can’t _think_ right now to save his life.  
  
Not like he needs to. Right now he’s single mindedly focused on how well she’s sucking his dick. How warm and silky her mouth is. How the velvety texture of her tongue adds the perfect je-ne-sais-quoi that edges him closer and closer to blowing his load.  
  
“F-fuck, _Reeey_ ,” another pathetic whimper, “gon- _aaah -_ gonna come. Shit, you’re doing so good.”  
  
Her responding moan is what does it for him. It’s luscious and throaty, like it comes from the depths of her soul, and it vibrates right down the length of his dick to tickle his balls. Her fingers grip his hips tightly as she slurps and sucks and…  
  
“ _Shiiiiiit_ ,” his head falls back, vision whiting out and sounds dampening as he spurts ribbons of cum into her mouth.  
  
He’s _vaguely_ aware of his body jolting, twitchy and hypersensitive from the force of his orgasm. He’s _vaguely_ aware of her throat working to swallow everything he gives. He’s also _vaguely_ aware of her tongue lapping over his hypersensitive cockhead and her fingers squeezing the swollen skin of his knot.  
  
Ben doesn’t know how long he stands there riding out the euphoric state she’s put him in. Doesn’t hear anything other than his own heart drumming in his chest. It’s a snuffled laugh and a warm puff of air around his shrinking member that draws him back into the room. Draws his eyes down to see her sporting a shit-eating grin.  
  
“First of all,” she kisses his limp-ish dick, “ _that_ was amazing. You _taste_ amazing.”  
  
He probably grins like a buffoon. He’s not sure. Can’t really feel his face.  
  
“Secondly,” she wraps her hands around his waist to pull him close and kiss below his navel, “and don’t let this get to your head, and I know that’s a tall order for the likes of you, but … you’ve got a beautiful cock.”  
  
Okay now he’s definitely grinning like a buffoon.  
  
He lets himself fall forward onto her playfully. Bracing their fall with his hands to avoid squishing her into the bed.  
  
“You,” he flops onto his back, gripping her around the waist to drag her onto his chest, “are un- _fucking-_ real. You know that?”  
  
“I’ve been told,” she snickers.  
  
He kisses her forehead, shifting her body over his and wrapping her tightly in his arms. Wiggles his back to cuddle into bed and closes his eyes.  
  
“Umm, airport?”  
  
“Shit,” he mumbles, “in a minute. You just sucked my soul out through my dick. Can a guy get a minute?”  
  
“ _Ohhh_ ... doctor no-time-for-anything suddenly needs a minute?” Her goading is accompanied by a nipple squeeze and a giggle that reminds him just how unfairly nude he is while she’s still wearing that chunky green monstrosity.  
  
He swats her butt with the hand curled around her waist. “Don’t be a brat. Here,” he grapples for his phone and requests an Uber, “there. Now can I have a minute?”  
  
He feels her nod. Feels her arms wrap around him.  
  
As he lays there holding her in his post orgasmic haze, he fleetingly wonders if pressure around this _knot_ sustains an orgasm and if so, just how much cum he could possibly produce to sustain an extended release.

  
  


…

  
  


He’d managed to pull on his Sunday best. Meaning what he usually wears to Costco. Meaning pair of comfortable jeans, a tee, and (at least in the cool spring) a chunky pullover that kind of matches hers.  
  
The Uber arrived on time and her quick work on separating his liquids got them through screening without a hitch. If you consider waiting behind a family of 6 to figure out how to fold up their fucking stroller ‘without a hitch’.  
  
They’d even found time to grab sandwiches, waters and snacks at the gate. Found time to snuggle on the benches and check their phones while waiting to board.   
  
He’d found his inbox woefully inactive. Apparently, despite everything that’s happened, his mother must still be busy hammering out the details of the outbreak with Holdo and his team is still indisposed.   
  
He finds himself showing her how to use his steroid nasal spray. Taking two puffs per nostril himself before wiping it with a tissue and guiding her. Into the lining, not straight back like decongestants.  
  
Watches her eyes tear up and her face contort in the most adorable way as she follows his instructions. Enjoys a good laugh after sniffing and blinking away he sting, then settling into his arms.  
  
So they fall into comfortable banter while curled around each other protectively. Discussing the merits of shakshuka for breakfast which he adamantly declares the ultimate in decadence and she denies on account of the amount of work it takes to prepare. They settle into agreeing oatmeal reigns supreme on both palette and cooking complexity. She takes hers with Nutella, apparently. Something he’s not sure he agrees with on a nutritional level though his sweet tooth is intrigued.   
  
He finds he relishes these little moments with her. Moments where she caresses his hand mindlessly while she explains _why_ she prefers steel cut oats over rolled. Moments where she sighs and gives him a private little smile that tells him she’s happy. Moments where she grins like the Cheshire cat because she notices he’s upgraded them to business class.  
  
Moments where she happily takes the offered blanket and drapes it over _both_ of their laps. Double checking the buckle on his strap like she’s making sure he’s safe. Pushing the over-large armrest as far down as it allows and maneuvering his arm around her shoulder so she can snuggle back into his chest.  
  
It feels nice, to be so wanted. To be doted on like you’re special. Even if the majority of the world sees an insufferable prick, _she_ sees someone worthy of a pedestal. Someone worth her attention and private smiles.   
  
Dr. Ben Solo, the very same diagnostician who usually hates having people in close proximity, finds he doesn’t even notice the other passengers squeeze by on their way to their assigned seats. Doesn’t notice the wailing of children or bickering couples trying to fit their luggage into the overheads. Doesn’t even notice when they shut the door and the flight attendants perform their mandatory song and dance.  
  
The plane taxies onto the runway and he pats his pant pocket to make sure the little pill bottle is still there. Absolutely terrified of it falling out and putting them at risk. It had been a spur of the moment decision. A hail mary based on the loosest of medical connections. And yet it’s helped get them this far without incident. So to Ben, that little vial is the equivalent of their lifeline.  
  
 **_Protect mate.  
  
_ ** _Jesus you’re insistent! But … welcome back buddy.  
  
_ **_I am NOT happy about you drugging me.  
  
_ ** “I’m gonna name him,” Ben announces while staring out the window. Their hands clasped and fingers entwined. The gate shrinking away as they navigate down the taxiways.  
  
The antipsychotic’s helped keep their inner voices in check. At least for now, even though it’s beginning to wear off. It’s nice, he thinks. Nice to feel normal in this clusterfuck they’ve found themselves in. Nice to know they’ve got a cushion to fall back on.  
  
“Who?” She asks, eyes likewise glued to the odd runway patterns they pass as the plane makes its way towards the runway.  
  
“My voice. My … Alpha.”  
  
“You’re kidding,” she snorts. It’s lazy and distant but she turns to look him in the eye. A little twitch on her lips. His idea amuses her.  
  
“Nope. If I’m going to live with another voice in my head, he’s going to need a name,” he murmurs close to her ear, “what do you think we should name him?”  
  
“Hmmm,” she leans against his shoulder, face turning back towards the small window, “what about ... Victor?”  
  
“That’s so…” he can’t help inhaling her scent, burying his nose into the top of her head and pulling in her delectable aroma, “mediocre. Plus I’ll never let him win so we can’t give him the impression he’ll ever rise victorious. Besides, he’s obnoxious. And _cruel_ . He doesn’t deserve to be a Vic.”  
  
 **_I resent that.  
  
_ ** _Want me to take another pill?  
  
_ The responding silence makes him smirk inwardly. Scratch another victory onto his tab.  
  
Even though all other scents have faded thanks to the nasal spray, hers remains. It’s not as affecting as before. Not as all consuming and synapse frazzling, but it’s there. Like she’s the only thing that matters when all else fades away. Like she was made for him.  
  
“What about … Vic-rul?”  
  
It’s his turn to snort. “That’s a dad joke, sweetheart.”  
  
“It’s _not!”  
  
_ “Is.”  
  
She heaves a sigh and starts laughing. Burying deeper into him. “Fine. It is. It was bad, I admit it.”  
  
He releases their hands in favour of wrapping his arm around her shoulders and pulling her closer.  
  
 **_Ours.  
  
_ ** _Shut up!  
  
_ “What about Gary?” She burrows closer.  
  
“I don’t need ‘ _the Gary_ ’ to start losing his marbles over cookies.”  
  
“Mooncake?”  
  
“Don’t want him starting to scream _chockity_ at me. Besides, I happen to _like_ Final Space. I have a feeling he’d ruin it for me.”  
  
“Fine,” he feels her eyes roll more than he sees it, “what about Logan?”  
  
“Eeh…”  
  
“Kyle?”  
  
“No.”  
  
The plane’s stopped and he knows they’re about to make the announcement. Knows the plane is about to roar and they’ll be pulled back into their seats at takeoff.   
  
_5 and a half hours until we’re alone.  
  
_ She sighs. “You know, for someone who’s asked for help you’re being exceptionally difficult.”  
  
“They’re great ideas … just not giving me that eureka moment. Maybe a hybrid?”  
  
Her fingers tap lazily on his forearm.   
  
He wants to squeeze her. No, he wants to devour her. _No,_ fuck her into the cushy business class seat in front of everyone to mark her as his again.  
  
 _Buddy stop intruding on my thoughts.  
  
_ **_Sorry. Need mate.  
  
_ ** “Loky?”  
  
“That’s not bad, but he’s a little shit. My Alpha might like being named after a trickster god.”  
  
She nods thoughtfully, “yeah, you’re right.”  
  
A beat. “Kylo?”  
  
“That’s…” his brow raises with interest, “not bad. I … I like it. _Kylo_.”  
  
He tests the name.  
  
 _Kylo…  
  
_ **_Yes we like it. We like the name for us.  
  
_ ** “Kyle and Logan, huh?” He laughs into her hair.  
  
It’s nice like this. Easy. Even with the obnoxious Alpha’s occasional intrusions. He wonders what hers is saying.  
  
“Yeah,” her lips press against his knuckle, “Kyle Logan. Ky-lo. Not a dad joke now, _huh_ ?”  
  
“It’s perfect,” he murmurs in her ear, pressing a kiss to her temple.  
  
She snuggles closer, releasing a content sigh.  
  
“Hey Ben?”  
  
“Yeah?”  
  
“Do you trust him? Your Alph— Kylo?”  
  
He considers for a moment. His Alpha hasn’t steered him wrong. If anything he’s been the best wingman Ben’s ever had. Not like he’s ever had one. A true friend and a guide through this mess he’s found himself in. _They’ve_ found _themselves_ in.  
  
“Y-yeah. I do. _I do,”_ he says with conviction, “with my life.”  
  
“Mmm,” she hums, “I do too.”  
  
Above, there’s a soft ding. The pilot’s monotonous voice indicating the flight crew prepare for takeoff. He wraps his arms around her tighter, thanking his earlier stroke of genius for upgrading them both to business class. There’s more space between people here. They’ve got two giant, cushy seats just to themselves and ironically, the seats across are empty.   
  
If he wanted to, he could spend the entire flight kissing and hugging (and maybe fingering) her. Maybe if it’s really quiet he’ll figure out a way to fuck her. He’s always wanted to join the mile high club.   
  
Then again, Ezra _had_ said the _knot_ would take half an hour to deflate. He’s not really keen on getting caught after the fact if they’ll be stuck together. It’d be safer to learn the ropes of his new inclinations before he does something as crass as fucking on a plane.  
  
Maybe they could use this time to work through some of the finer points of their condition. Compare notes. Maybe she knows more about this _knot_ and maybe she can explain exactly what she’d meant earlier when she’d mentioned _slick._   
  
The thrusters engage and their bodies pull back into the seats. The jet engine roars in their ears as they surrender to take off. Her body warm and safely nestled in his arms where it belongs.  
  
There’s a dreamy sigh in his chest. A content purr.  
  
 **_Our mate is perfect.  
  
_ ** _Kylo!_

  
  
  
  
  


**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Like you didn’t see that coming! _Of course_ his name would be Kylo. It was the only logical choice. 
> 
> So what’s next? Well, we’ll just have to see how good those pills are at staving off their inevitable heat/rut and how awkward things can get on an airplane...
> 
> **Hey look, terms to clarify again:**   
>  [SNS (Sympathetic Nervous System)](https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Sympathetic_nervous_system)   
>  [Chag Sameach (Jewish Happy Holiday)](https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Jewish_greetings)   
>  [Bibingka](https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Bibingka)   
>  [Shakshuka](https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Shakshouka)


	2. Chapter 2

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> _As they step out onto the snow dusted pick-up area, he barely notices a few males sniff the air. One of them turns to follow but quickly changes direction when he (probably) gets wind of Ben’s acerbic mood. Corrosive with a hint of danger, curled protectively over his mate’s back and broadcasting an air of murder._
> 
> _His original plan had been to hail an Uber. Having learned the hard way that the airport and her house are separated by an exorbitantly overpriced fare. But now, with the way her scent’s intensified, with the way she grunts and clutches her abdomen, he finds he couldn’t give a single fuck about price. He’d pay the equivalent of another business class ticket to get her to her front door and not bat a single eyelash._

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Took a hot minute, huh? I swear I'm going to try to cut down on the word count for future chapters. I SWEAR it!
> 
> I had most of the chapter written for over a week. Everything after their card game just kind of ... fizzled in my mind. Not that I didn't know where the chapter was headed, it was just the connecting mechanism that was a blur, y'know? 
> 
> Then the scene started to take shape and I discovered that someone had plagiarized Patient Zero. Which, of course, dampened my mojo. To say that didn't hit me in the feels (and not in the fluffy devoted Reylo way) would be an understatement. Having your work ripped off has a way of making you want to quit. To take all your shit down and leave it all behind. So I was sad for a hot minute ... until stubbornness set me on fire (let's be honest, Dr. Bonaparte's bullshit had to come from a real place, my deep well of sarcasm being one of those places). So here we are.
> 
> If you're new here, please note that this is a sequel. Part 1 can be found here: **[Patient Zero](https://archiveofourown.org/works/25829605)**
> 
> And now ... how our odd couple spent a 5 and a half hour flight to Anchorage:

“Can I get you anything to drink?”  
  
They’re pulled out of their cozy bubble by the flight attendant. Her expectant blue eyes dart from Ben to Rey with a faux smile.  
  
“I can offer you a complimentary alcoholic beverage as part of your in-flight service,” she adds with another expectant head tilt. There’s something about the way she smiles that makes pride swell in his chest. Like she’s _awww-ing_ in her head. Like them being a perfect pair is the sweetest, most obvious thing in the world.   
  
_Because it is.  
  
_ “I’ll have a gin and to—“  
  
“Sweetheart,” he interjects, placing a hand gently over hers, “I don’t think alcohol will interact well with the medication.”  
  
“Right,” she corrects herself with a scowl, “just a coke then, please.” Rey smiles politely at the flight attendant, her hand clutching his forearm.  
  
“And just a coffee for me. No sugar or cream. Black is fine.”  
  
“Of course,” the attendant ducks her chin, “I’ll have that right up. Here are your menus for dinner.”  
  
The woman deposits two thin laminated pamphlets on his arm rest then saunters off down the aisle to prepare their beverages. Rey’s grasp on his arm, meanwhile, turns fierce. A death grip so tight he might end up with bruises.  
  
“What’s the matter, sweetheart? Afraid of flying?” He teases with a playful smirk.  
  
“Pfft, please. I came here from London,” she growls (which is _absolutely_ adorable, like a tiny, cranky little lion cub), “I just didn’t like how she was looking at you.”  
  
It’s a strange feeling, having someone be so fiercely territorial over you. Ironically, there’s nothing about her behaviour that puts him off. Maybe because she doesn’t treat him like the meal ticket the way those app dates did. No, she treats him like he’s special to her. Like she wants _him_ regardless of whether he smells good or not. And that’s most obvious when they’re together quietly. When despite having no reason to, she snuggles closer or burrows deeper. When there’s no occasion for it but she chooses to intertwine their fingers or gently stroke his oversized digits anyway.  
  
If anything he’s perplexed someone is so enamoured with _him_ that they’d stare down a perfectly innocent woman just doing her job.   
  
He’s also surprised by how much he _likes_ her possessive streak. It’s got a mean edge to it, something feral and raw that his inner demon absolutely adores. Finds a kindred spirit in.  
  
“You’ve nothing to worry about,” he pulls her back in, “I’ve only got eyes for you.”  
  
Is it uncharacteristically sappy? Yes.  
  
Is it true? Also yes.  
  
Maybe it’s her scent. Maybe it’s the bite she gave him. Maybe it’s his body having naturally fallen into rhythm with hers or the way he can almost feel her moods ebb through him in whispering waves. Whatever it is, the concept of another woman feels foreign.  
  
“Well, next time her eyes wander … they’ll meet my fist.”  
  
 **_Mate is dreamy. Let’s knot her.  
  
_ ** _On an airplane?  
  
_ **_What’s an…  
  
_ ** **_Oh. Maybe not. But I can smell her heat, she smells … nnngh ripe. Very ripe.  
  
_ ** **_Fuck it. Let’s knot her.  
  
_ ** _So let me get this straight … you want to keep her safe but you also want to fuck her on an airplane.  
  
_ **_Yes … no? I don’t … I can’t think. She smells TOO good.  
  
_ ** _You know what that means?  
  
_ **_You’re gonna drug me again aren’t you?  
  
_ ** _Clever girl, Kylo.  
  
_ **_What the … I’m not … *gasps* aaah I see what you did there. A Jurassic Park reference.  
  
_ ** **_*sigh* alright well, for our mate, do it.  
  
_ ** _You’re a good man, Kylo.  
  
_ **_Just remember this when the time comes.  
  
_ ** Ben’s free arm tucks into his pocket to produce the little vial of pills. Turns the lid expertly with one hand and rattles it in front of her face.  
  
“You think I…” she starts sputtering, tensing briefly at the implication before relaxing back into him, “yeah that’s probably a good idea.”  
  
He rattles off two into her open palm, secures the lid and shoves them back into his pocket.   
  
And his precious mate? She tosses one back dry (again) and twists in his arms to hold out his. When he reaches with his free hand to pinch it out of her fingers, she shakes her head, opening her mouth wide and saying _aaah_.  
  
 **_We love her.  
  
_ ** **_Too soon?  
  
_ ** _Not soon enough buddy.  
  
_ He opens his mouth and lets her place it on his tongue, swallowing it back the moment her fingers clear his lips. It doesn’t even scrape on the way down, her demure offering and the cloud of her essence surrounding him had set his salivary glands off long ago.  
  
“You’ve got a _big_ mouth,” she mutters transfixed. Her eyes are glued to his mouth, the way he works his lips to swallow the excess drool flooding his oral cavity. And it’s not the kind of staring you do when something’s strange or unusual. Not the inquisitive stares of someone thinking ‘that can’t be real’. No, she’s staring like she wants to _maul_ him.   
  
And fuck him if he doesn’t he grin from ear to ear. All 32 of his scraggly teeth on full display, glowing under her lust-filled gaze.   
  
He’d been told his lips are too big, that his mouth is so big he could swallow planets. One girl in kindergarten told him he had ‘girl lips’ (quite eloquently), a passing observation that had lodged itself deep in his psyche. The source of a hidden complex he fosters. One no one knows about because weakness isn’t in his vocabulary.   
  
So he’d always been exceptionally self conscious about his mouth.   
  
But _she_ likes it.  
  
He’s gonna kiss her. There’s no rules against making out on the plane, right? It shouldn’t trigger anything. They’ve just taken those pills, everything should be hunky dory...  
  
“Alright, here we are,” the attendant returns at the wrong _fucking moment_. Ben can practically _feel_ Rey scowling and, quite frankly, he’s growing irritated at the unnecessary interruptions.   
  
But … social duty and all. So he does his best to make zero eye contact. To grab the cups and offer a clipped thanks while keeping his mate close.  
  
The exchange is wordless. Short and clinical. Just how he likes his typical human to human interactions.  
  
“Is that your Omega showing?” He asks playfully, passing her the cup.  
  
“Don’t be an ass,” she swats his chest, taking a sip and smacking her lips. He wants to kiss her. He _really_ wants to kiss her again. As Ben.  
  
 **_What we really want *yawn* is to knot her.  
  
_ ** _Yeah yeah. I know. Pupping and all that jazz.  
  
_ **_Y-you’re a good man, too, Ben Solo.  
  
_ ** **_You sh- you SHOULD kiss her, y’know?  
  
_ ** _You think?  
  
_ Crickets again.   
  
Aah shit.   
  
“Hey,” he shifts to face her in full, “is it weird that I miss Kylo when he’s asleep?”  
  
“You,” she furrows her brows, confused, “you _miss_ your Alpha. Really?”  
  
Okay. So Rey clearly isn’t as fond of her inner voice as he is. If her face doesn’t give it away the disdain in her voice does. Not for the first time, he wonders just what they say to each other to inflict this kind of surprise.   
  
“Yeah, he’s … kind of a good guy.”  
  
It’s weird to admit. Weird to admit he might enjoy someone’s company. Even if that someone isn’t his mate but a voice in his head that’s (for all intents and purposes) his own.   
  
It’s a little like having a prolonged case of hiccups. You get so used to the diaphragm contractions your body misses them after they’ve stopped. Like finding a new addition to your routine that feels so natural it slots into place almost immediately. Becomes vital. Then gets ripped away.  
  
She scoffs rolling her eyes, “I’m _sure_ he is. Mine? She’s obnoxious.”  
  
 _I knew it.  
  
_ “Wanna tell me about her?” He really would like to know more. Aside from the obvious purpose of this trip, he can’t shed his physician skin that easily. Wants to test theories and delve into the symptomatology for clues. Break down their condition into simpler parts and treat each aspect individually.  
  
Rey takes another sip of her coke. The motion makes his thoughts fizzle in favour of watching her long, slender neck as she swallows. Imagining that’s how it looked when she’d swallowed his cum earlier. Watching the hollow of her throat pulse with every gulp and licking his chops because there, just a few inches on either side of that delectable pulse, lies the fountain of ambrosia he’s desperate to latch onto again.  
  
“I don’t,” she hiccups, a trigger stemming from the temperature of her coke or aerophagia (nice, he hasn’t lost it after all), “I’d rather talk about how you gave me shit for trying to order gin but _you_ ordered coffee—”  
  
“I…” _shit.  
  
_ “—like coffee doesn’t affect medication. That’s quite rich, isn’t it, _Solo_.”  
  
“Alcohol is a depressant, sweetheart. Coffee is a stimulant. Very different interactions.”  
  
“Pffft,” she rolls her eyes derisively, “not really that different if you think about it.”  
  
“How do you mean?” He doesn’t mean to get his back up, but _he’s_ the doctor dammit. He won’t be lectured on drug interactions by a (very sexy) wolf-lady (he’s trying to bone).  
  
“Well, an interaction is an interaction, isn’t it?”  
  
He blinks dumbly. Yeah, okay sure. But if it’s between taking medications with alcohol versus coffee he’d lean into the lesser of 2 evils.  
  
 _What’s your point, sweetheart?  
  
_ “Whatever the interaction it changes the effects of the drug,” she continues unfazed, “I know, for example, that _coffee_ can interfere with some forms of SSRIs to induce jitters.” There she fixes him with a glare that relays she’s about to verbally demolish him. If he feels his dick stirring, eeh. “Or that it can reduce the effectiveness of some osteoporosis and thyroid medications.”  
  
Ok, yeah. He’s hard.  
  
“H-how do you…”  
  
“Doesn’t matter,” she swats her hand, “the point is, I’m calling you on your bullshit Dr. Bonaparte.”  
  
“Rey,” he leans in to whisper, “if you don’t stop talking pharmaceuticals like that I might divide and conquer right fucking here.”  
  
She leans back against the window, crosses her arms over her chest and cocks an eyebrow. “You … liked that?”  
  
He nods, swallowing the thick knot of lust that’s lodged in his throat.  
  
“Would it turn you on if I told you that I know the thyroid medication is called Levothyroxine?” There’s an air of incredulity in her question.  
  
He shivers in response, “oooooh fuuuck.”  
  
“Mmmh,” she leans forward biting her lip, now wholly immersed in ruining his life, “fosamax is an alendronic acid.”  
  
“Christ, Rey. You’re going to kill m—”   
  
The interruption comes out of left field. Like a bucket of ice water on an unsuspecting poolside napper.   
  
“Have you decided on what you’ll be having for dinner?”  
  
Ben decides, right then and there, that he absolutely despises the flight attendant.

  
  


…

  
  


“Skip your turn, skip your turn … aaaand pick up 2,” she lays her 2 of diamonds down with a grin and a smug little hip wiggle. Expertly grabbing the pile, tossing him 2 cards, then dealing herself 5 new ones.  
  
They settled on playing ‘crazy eights countdown’ at her insistence. Some variation of Uno using a standard card deck. Well … standard 52 card deck. There’s nothing standard about _hers._ The deck of cards she fished out of her purse is basically ancient Greek erotica.   
  
So that 2 of diamonds? It’s actually some guy fingering a woman. Or at least that’s what it looks like … his hand’s wedged between her ass cheeks.  
  
It’s hard to focus on playing. Hard to focus on the plethora of rules she keeps throwing at him when he’s assaulted with images of the things he’d like to do to her.   
  
Ben stares at his own hand, arranging the two new arrivals into the enormous fan he’s currently holding. The 9 of clubs (or a woman sprinkling _something_ over a garden of dicks), the king of clubs (a couple engaging in some kind of standing forward-bent doggy style copulation).  
  
Ben mashes his lips in thought, sliding his new cards into their numerical places and tightening the fan to only show the index labels. He sighs deeply, considering his hand now that he’s only looking at values. At least they’re suited, he concedes.  
  
He puts down a pair of doubles. The ace of diamonds (some nude dude with Khaleesi locks riding a donkey), and the ace of spades (some guy spread eagle with his erection front and center, a shockingly devil-like tail dangling behind). At least he got to burn 2 cards in one turn.  
  
His emotions churn quietly as he watches Rey arrange her cards.   
  
On the one hand, his competitive streak is burning for vengeance. He wants to dominate. To win. Him still being on 8 while she’s down to 5 is setting every competitive bone in his body on fire. His father had taught him how to play most card games and besides her strange roster of rules, it’s basically Uno — the first game his dad ever taught him. A game he mastered at the tender age of 6 and routinely whooped ass in.  
  
On the other, he’s ecstatic to see her so happy. Sure, it’s mostly smug, self-congratulatory grinning but he can practically taste her happiness. Whether she’s plotting her next shred or dumping yet another penalty card on him, the way she beams (regardless of how smug it is) makes him preen. A silky caress of satisfaction because he’s the _cause_ of her current state of happiness, even if it’s indirect.  
  
And then there’s the third. He’s fucking horny as hell and this card deck is _really_ not helping his condition. Everytime she chews her lip in thought, or idly runs her finger over the ridges of her cards, or demurely slides them out of her fan to toss them on the burn pile with flourish, he’s reminded of just how much he wants to (at the very least) suck on her neck.  
  
Sure, the antipsychotic and the steroid spray keep down (most) scents and voices, but the urges are still there. They’ve simply been dulled. The edge of the blade sheathed but still sharp. Still very much a weapon if given the chance.  
  
He can feel it, right there. Just the shape of it but solid and clear. One wrong move and he might not be able to suppress the urge to pounce and do something wholly unacceptable in public. And without the helpful (though obnoxious) input from Kylo, that could be risky. Especially when they’re in the home stretch.  
  
Ben just needs to get through a few more hours. A few measly hours inside this tin can with a flagging erection. A few measly hours sitting next to (but decidedly not touching) the woman his body yearns for.   
  
Ironic, he scoffs at his cards derisively, the guy who always gets what he wants is getting a lesson in patience. A virtue he knows next to nothing about.  
  
She snickers quietly, placing down the 7 of spades — or more appropriately, some guy comically looking up a woman’s skirt rocking a poignant erection.   
  
In turn, the corners of his mouth twitch. The beginnings of a smile forming because she’s happy and he’s happy and that card is, frankly, quite fitting for their situation. Ben can relate minus the upskirt business. He doesn’t even need to do that to get hard. Apparently just her proximity will do it.  
  
Mindlessly, he drops the 3 of spades … or more appropriately a threesome. A woman held up mid-air, speared between two men.  
  
With a devious glint in her eye, she lays down the 6 of spades. Places it on the pile more delicately than the others, pressing her lips together as if holding back laughter.  
  
“Pick up Juan, and I’m changing it to hearts,” she giggles.  
  
Ben stares at the card dumbly. Confused by _everything_ she’d just said. First of all, there’s a pick up 1? Secondly, her wild card is 5 now, she can’t change suits with that.  
  
 _What … the fuck? Now she’s just making shit up.  
  
_ “Uh … what?” He asks flabbergasted.  
  
“That’s Juan,” her shoulders shake with restrained laughter, “he’s special. Both a penalty and a wild card that transcends suits. So pick up one.”  
  
“I don’t…”  
  
The 6 of spades, or more appropriately, some guy holding a dildo the length of the card, stares back at him. There’s no ‘draw one’ rule he’d ever heard of in Uno. Sure there’s draw 2 and 4, but one? No.  
  
“Rey,” he warns, frustrated, “that’s not even a rule. You’ve been making them up all along haven’t you?”  
  
“You wound me, sir,” she presses her hand into her chest, “Juan is a _very_ important card. Ask Sabine. Just … look at him. Look at the _size_ of that thing. If he doesn’t deserve to hold a higher station than just the boring old 6 of spades, the world is an unfair place.”  
  
He might be gaping.  
  
Sure, yeah, it’s probably the most impressive card he’d seen thus far. More impressive than the garden of dicks. More impressive than the Jack of spades, which is an erection that doubles as a bird’s perch. But does it deserve special rules?  
  
And just _how many_ of the rules they’ve played with have been made up thus far?  
  
And just maybe he’s a little jealous of the way she talks about the dick on the card? So _maybe_ he growls? Maybe it’s just the roar of the jet engine? Who could tell?  
  
“I’m not picking up another card on a fake rule,” he grumbles.   
  
“Beeeeeen, please,” she whines exasperated, “we’re playing with a _very_ special deck and this is one of this particular deck’s very special rules. I _promise_ when we get there you can call Sabine and ask her. Even Ezra knows the Juan rule. Everyone who’s ever played with this deck gets indoctrinated.”  
  
“Well, I’m not.”  
  
“Ben, he’s the Juan to rule them all,” she offers with a watery smile, “get it?”  
  
To prove his point and double down on stubborn, he folds up his cards and throws them down next to the pile.  
  
“You’re being a sore loser,” her smile falters.  
  
“Am not,” he bites a little more aggressively than necessary.  
  
“Are too!”  
  
Ben triples down on stubborn now. Folding his arms across his chest and pressing his lips into a thin line.   
  
_Nope. Not backing down.  
  
_ An uncomfortable silence stretches between them. Scents shifting in the air. He sees her sniff and scowl like she’s gotten a whiff something sour. He, on the other hand, smells only sweetness. A new level of saccharine goodness that’s just a touch more robust than usual. Richer, if it’s possible.  
  
If he weren’t so peeved he might have picked up on the fact that she was enjoying…  
  
“Ben?” Rey pries his hand out of his stubborn hold across his chest and onto the armrest where she entwines their fingers. She squeezes lightly, begging wordlessly for his eyes to meet hers.   
  
“I forfeit,” she murmurs after another long moment of silence. She lifts his hand to her mouth where she grazes his knuckles against her lips, “so you win.”  
  
The sweetness in the air blooms again. Thick and viscid like a balm to his budding anger. Like maple syrup slowly coating pancakes. It carries a little bitterness with it, like worry could have a scent. Like it could change the flavour.   
  
Wait … can he _smell_ her emotions?  
  
 _Buddy, you there? I need to ask you a question.  
  
_ Crickets.  
  
Well shit. This would be an excellent question to have answered.  
  
Instead, Ben settles for inhaling deeply. Allowing himself to be lulled by her calming presence and the scent of her sweetness. With each wave of anger he breathes through, the hint of bitterness dissipates a little more. Giving the sweetness center stage and lending more weight to his newborn theory.  
  
“Rey,” he clears his throat, “did … you can smell me, right?”  
  
She nods against his knuckles with a gentle smile. Something akin to relief glitters in her wide hazel eyes. It’s endearing as fuck.  
  
“And just now, you smelled me getting … frustrated? Is that why you conceded?”  
  
“Don’t be ridiculous.” That’s what she _says_ but those expressive eyes of hers tell a different story. There _is_ , in fact, a hint of worry. He can tell by the way her brows have turned down. By the way she’s holding his hand questioningly and all but submitting. “Juan was my last good card and I was about to lose anyway. Besides,” she kisses his knuckles softly, “food’s here and I’m starving.”  
  
As if on cue, he hears the meal cart being wheeled up to their seats.  
  
He hates that he had won their little card game, and by extension this argument, on a lie. Hates that his inability to control his emotions put them in this position. Namely one where she felt she needed to reduce her own fire down to a simmer.   
  
He _likes_ her spunky. _Likes_ when she puts up a fight. It’s what drew him to her in the first place.  
  
The flight attendant arranges their appetizers on their trays. A prawn confit with veg salad for him, green pea mash with artichokes and parm for her.   
  
As Rey settles the proffered napkin in her lap, she offers him another gentle smile. Keeps it as she mimics the motion and drapes another napkin over his own lap in that nurturing way she’d done with the blanket.  
  
Maybe it’s not about winning, he sighs. Maybe it’s not even about the game.   
  
Maybe it’s about forfeiting something to make the person you care about happy.  
  
It’s something he knows nothing about.   
  
It’s something he silently vows he’ll do for her as long as she’ll have him.

  
  


…

  
  


Something feels … amazing.  
  
Is he having sex? It feels like it. Kind of.   
  
There’s a repetitive zing that shoots straight to his groin. Undeniably reminiscent of the bliss inducing, rhythmic slide of fucking. A telltale warmth and grind caress the length of him, lending weight to his sleepy theory.  
  
He’s hard. Not an uncommon waking situation, especially not recently. Or at least not since he’d met his mate. What’s different about _now_ is the fact that there’s a deliciously warm friction. A waking situation that he _hasn’t_ experienced lately.  
  
Not that he minds. This is nice, actually.  
  
Ben doesn’t want to open his eyes. He’s still working his way into consciousness, drowsy and clinging to the last remnants of his cozy slumber. But he _does_ hear the quiet whoosh of forced air flow. The sound of soft suckling close to his ear. Near imperceptible moans shooting pleasure straight to his dick every so often when they can’t be contained.  
  
Is he … are they …  
  
A throat is cleared somewhere in the distance. Even further he can barely make out the sounds of a baby fussing. He’s also growing increasingly aware that there’s no tight heat milking his dick.  
  
No. They’re definitely still on the plane. And he’s definitely (woefully) not fucking his mate.  
  
The last thing he remembers is finishing their dinner. She’d yawned so sweetly, arched her back and extended her arms over her head in the most infectiously satisfying stretch he’d ever seen. All while he’d stacked their plates and arranged them on his tray to clear hers off.  
  
She’d complained about feeling tired and a bit feverish. So he’d naturally suggested she nap after offering her an ibuprofen. It didn’t help that only moments later the pilot dimmed the cabin’s lights.  
  
With the mood set and an exaggerated pout, she’d collected her blanket and climbed into his lap. Together they wrangled the seat’s levers until they figured out how to recline it fully (Ben is now travelling business class _exclusively_ , thank you very much).   
  
He remembers her adjusting the blanket over both of them. Remembers her draping herself over him and nuzzling into his neck. Remembers wrapping his arms around her and breathing in her comforting scent. Remembers pressing a kiss into the crown of her head and feeling her breathing steady against his chest as sleep claimed his precious mate.  
  
He must have fallen asleep too at some point.  
  
Not that it’s much of a surprise. There’s something about having her close, holding her tight that’s better than any sleep aid, meditation app or even his childhood teddy Mr. Snuggles.   
  
He can’t complain. If anything, sleep probably helped pass the time better than any card game or movie. Gave him a reprieve from his ebbing emotions and the primal urges grating his nerves.   
  
Until now, that is.  
  
Because he’s suddenly _very_ aware that his hands aren’t wrapped around her at all. They’re on her hips, fingers reaching long to knead the pliant flesh of her ass. No, that would be putting it lightly. He’s not just groping her, he’s _guiding her along,_ keeping her hips aligned to set a languid grind.  
  
And if that weren’t enough, his budding awareness is also making him realize he’s trusting back. Rolling his hips in time with her strokes. It’s a lazy rocking, the way he imagines morning sex would be like with her. Sleepy and uncoordinated but absolutely euphoric. Complete with her lips latched onto his neck, tongue sliding over his gland and suckling.  
  
It feels _fantastic_.   
  
He knows he should put a stop to it. Knows he should halt his misguided dry humping. Knows part of taking care of her means being the responsible one because she’s suffered long enough and it’s his _duty_ as her mate and Alpha. It just feels _so good.  
  
_ _5 more minutes.  
  
_ **_Let’s knot. Right now.  
  
_ ** _You’re awake?  
  
_ **_Yeah. Let’s knot. Now now now.  
  
_ ** **_Mmmm, mate smells ripe.  
  
_ ** _How long…  
  
_ “Rey?”  
  
Her response is to bear down harder and moan quietly into the column of his neck.  
  
“Sweetheart,” his mouth and body are _not_ on the same page judging by the extra greedy thrusting of his hips, “what are you doing?”  
  
He asks like he doesn’t know. Like he isn’t an _active_ participant in the airplane debauchery they’re currently engaged in.  
  
Now that he’s a bit more conscious, he can practically smell the sex oozing from her. She _does_ smell ripe.  
  
 **_Told you so.  
  
_ ** _C-can others smell her?  
  
_ He feels panic rising at the thought.  
  
 **_No. No one on the plane is like us. Can’t you smell it?  
  
_ ** Well, no, he can’t. He can smell the dry cabin air, the sting of antiseptic cleaning solution they’d used to disinfect before boarding. There’s a hint of lingering farts and definitely garlic breath from the guy in 3E who insisted on having pasta aioli like a self-important jerk.   
  
Relief settles over him for a split second before he realizes the next snag in his current conundrum.  
  
 _Does that mean I need to take another pill?  
  
_ **_No. No. No. Stop it. It feels like it gets worse every time I wake up. It might already end up being a very hard rut with all the postponing you’ve done.  
  
_ ** Maybe Kylo’s right. Maybe they’re travelling on borrowed time. The pills acting as a temporary dam. Holding back the river of symptoms only for the condition to hit full force once the effects have worn off. With each progressive pill they take, the effects of the crash could be compounded. A side effect he hadn’t considered in his rush to find any sort of pharmaceutical aid. A pathetic oversight in retrospect. He’s the physician dammit!  
  
He should check the time. If they’re close, maybe they can manage to control their urges for a little while. It’ll be close to 10:00 PM when they land. With a 30ish minute drive to her house it’s all very doable without resorting to another dose. That’d be safest.  
  
 **_Yes. It would be. I can help.  
  
_ ** _You’ll be good and try to control your impulses?  
  
_ **_OUR impulses. Don’t be crass, you’ve proven you’re just as much a part of this as I am.  
  
_ ** _Ass.  
  
_ **_Dick.  
  
_ ** **_… I still wanna knot her though.  
  
_ ** _All in good time big guy.  
  
_ “Rey,” if it sounds like a plea, it is, “s-stop. We - _nnnghh_ \- we can’t do this here.”  
  
She doesn’t detach from his neck. Nor does she stop (not like he’s stopping either, though). All he hears is a muffled ‘nuh uh’ while their rhythm picks up a notch and she gives an extra avid suck to his gland.  
  
“F-fuuuuck,” he half moans.  
  
 **_May I?  
  
_ ** _What are you going to do?  
  
_ **_Oh ye of little faith. I’m just going to compel her to listen.  
  
_ ** _Right. Right. I’m supposed to trust you.  
  
_ _Go for it.  
  
_ “Omega,” his voice rings deep, commanding. An order born from his larynx but not of his own volition. It freezes her instantly, halting all motion and bringing their grinding to a screeching halt.  
  
“Wh- what did you do?” She pushes herself up to brace her hands on his chest, staring at him incredulously.  
  
 _Well? I’d like to know too. I’ve seen you do this before…  
  
_ **_One day I’ll teach you young padawan.  
  
_ ** “Can you behave, Omega?” That’s not him talking.   
  
_What the hell!  
  
_ He sees her face cycle through churning emotions. From confusion to consternation, anger to reluctant acceptance.  
  
“Yes, Alpha.”  
  
 _Holy shit that worked?  
  
_ _How?  
  
_ **_I said one day.  
  
_ ** _That’s rich coming from mister knot-right-now. Want me to take another pill?  
  
_ Rey straightens her sweater, cheeks pink and expression bashful. She slips out of his lap with a whimper, retreating back to her seat where she curls up small, tucking her knees into her chest and pressing down her unruly hair. Leans her curled up body against the window and fixes her eyes on the starry sky.   
  
He can see it there, a glimmer of frustration peeking from beneath her submissive withdrawal. Her Omega answered his Alpha, but Rey is _not_ happy with Ben.  
  
 _I am NEVER going to hear the end of it. She’s going to murder me in my sleep! What did you do, Kylo?  
  
_ **_*sigh* it’s a command.  
  
_ ** _Well no shit Sherlock, I have eyes…  
  
_ **_I wasn’t finished, KAREN.  
  
_ ** **_It’s speech delivered with a low frequency vibration. The pitch is low but the sound pressure permeates cells. It basically vibrates her body into generating an action potential.  
  
_ ** _You mean to say…  
  
_ **_That we can use our voice to make others behave? Yes.  
  
_ ** **_But it doesn’t work on everyone. Lesser designations attuned to Alpha signaling have to obey, though, so it comes in handy.  
  
_ ** _That’s…  
  
_ **_Awesome? I know.  
  
_ ** _I … guess? But isn’t it inherently unfair?  
  
_ **_That’s why it’s important to be a GOOD Alpha.  
  
_ ** Ben files _that_ unnerving tidbit away for later.   
  
It irks him that he’s in possession of an intangible weapon. That people like him could potentially use something as inconspicuous as their voice to bend others into submission. Even if it’s not meant maliciously, a budding Alpha, unsure of his or her own volatility _could_ wreak havoc.  
  
He thinks back to the original roster of symptoms he’d presented his mother. Such a short, pathetic list. So underwhelmingly blasé, painting the condition with such broad, soft strokes. Now that he’s experiencing it, he’s wholeheartedly convinced that there’s much more to it than mutated glands and an increased sex drive.   
  
There’s a level of agitation that’s bordering on dangerous. There’s the intense urges that strike when the right scents tickle your nostrils just so. There’s the sex drive that isn’t just increased, it’s disproportionately unbearable. All things that could drive a normally sane person to do _insane_ things.  
  
Now Ben might be a physician. One with a very close relation _to_ and understanding _of_ the infection they’ve been saddled with. But your regular John Smith or Jane Doe? They’d be clueless and distraught. Overwhelmed by impulses they might not be able to fully grasp. And what would they do then? Fumble and grope their way through blindly until they find something that eases the onslaught? Would they use something as potentially destructive as this command unwittingly? Would they use it, once discovered, to coerce someone into sleeping with them? Into submitting against their will? _Mating_ against their will?  
  
“Ben?” Her voice pulls him out of his internal debate. She sounds distressed and timid. Maybe she’s in pain?   
  
“I-I’m sorry. I don’t know what came over me.”  
  
“Yeah,” he croaks, reaching for the lever to right his seat, “me either. I shouldn’t have done that.”  
  
She’s twisting the hem of her sweater and chewing her lip. Her eyes wide and shining but flighty. Unable to settle on anything for too long before casting down at her hands again like a scorned child. On top of it all, there’s a hint of bitterness in the air again.  
  
 **_Mate is sad. She thinks she’s a bad Omega.  
  
_ ** _Well that’s preposterous, she’s perfect. This was my fault — OUR fault.  
  
_ **_I agree. But she needs reassurance she’s being good. May I?  
  
_ ** _No, I think I’ve got this.  
  
_ Ben pulls his phone out of his pocket to check the time. Quarter after 9 so they _should_ be landing soon.  
  
“Sweetheart,” he turns to her and yep, she looks downright stricken. Her eyes are wide, worry written plainly on her face when their eyes meet, “it’s alright. You did nothing wrong. Does … does it hurt?”  
  
She shakes her head, worrying her lower lip between her perfect teeth. So he reaches for her hand and entwines their fingers mimicking her earlier motions to soothe her. “You’ll still tell me if it does, right?”  
  
She nods meekly.  
  
“Good,” he squeezes her fingers and gives her a soft smile, “it was my fault. I’m the one who’s supposed to take care of you and I failed you. I’m sorry.”  
  
Her eyes glitter with tears.  
  
 _Uh, help?  
  
_ **_Tell her she’s good. A good Omega.  
  
_ ** “You’re doing _so_ good, Rey” he tries.   
  
**_Not quite what I meant but sure...  
  
_ ** It feels awkward in his mouth. The terms ‘you’ and ‘good’ don’t usually connect in his day to day discourse. Giving compliments isn’t a social tactic he normally employs. Because nobody actually _deserves_ to hear that string of syllables from him. Compliments are saved for exceptional work and even then doled out haltingly. In calculated doses like necessary medicine.  
  
And yet he wants her to know that _she_ is. All rhyme or reason aside, to him everything she does _is_ good. As awkward as voicing those two words together is for him, it’s more important that she _know_ it’s true. “Honest. You’re doing _so_ well Rey. You _and_ your Omega. Both of you are doing amazing.”  
  
 **_Ok that’s better.  
  
_ ** He can see it working. The slow smile blooming on her face. The way her eyes light up and colour creeps up her neck. The way her chest seems to puff out like she’s preening. Body uncurling itself to take up more space.  
  
And the scent? It’s blooming too. The bouquet bursting to life right under his nose. Bright and vivacious, with notes of unfiltered sunshine. Tangible, palpable happiness swirling around him and tickling his nostrils.  
  
So, of course, having found something that elicits such a strong positive reaction he doubles down.  
  
“Honestly, Rey, with everything you’ve been through, you’re handling it like a champ. I’m _so_ proud of you, sweetheart.”  
  
She practically throws herself over the console and into his arms. Tucking her nose into his neck where she nuzzles the gland she’d abused with her mouth mere moments ago.  
  
“Thank you,” she whispers, “she was screaming at me. Calling me a bad mate and insisting you don’t want me ... us. It … she was starting to get to me.”  
  
“Now that’s just ridiculous,” he loops an arm around her and kisses her temple, “how could I _not_ want you? Who else would get my obscure movie references and counter them with her own? Hmm? And who else would counter my sarcasm with more sarcasm? You’re one of a kind, Rey.”  
  
She snorts a relieved laugh into the column of his neck just as the pilot announces they’ll begin their descent. Their estimated arrival is in 30 minutes.  
  
With the travel time from the airport, they’ll be there in an hour. He can do this. _They_ can do this.  
  
“I still can’t believe you’re real, you know,” he murmurs. She relaxes into him, hands travelling up to wrap around his neck, melting into his arms.  
  
“Sometimes I’m afraid I’ll wake up and this’ll all have been a dream,” he confesses into her hair, “that I cooked you up to fill the void.”  
  
“What void,” she scoffs, “you’ve got the perfect life, Dr. Bonaparte. You get patients flown in, have a team of doctors at your disposal. Your staff is terrified of you. You’re living the _dream_ , Ben.”  
  
“Apparently not.”  
  
 _And I didn’t know that until I met you.  
  
_ **_You should tell her that.  
  
_ ** _Yeah right. And have her run for the hills? You’ve been in my brain. You’ve got access to my memories. You’ve seen how this stuff usually works for me.  
  
_ **_I have … but I can also smell her. Do you … can you smell that?  
  
_ ** _The garlic from 3E?  
  
_ **_No you sarcastic donkey. Her. Take a deep breath. Tell me what you smell.  
  
_ ** He does. Takes a deep inhale and lets the nuances of her scent bathe his olfactory receptors. The warmth and musk of it setting him at ease instantly. Like slipping into your own bed after a long day.  
  
 _I … can’t describe it. It’s like sunshine and spring air? Of course there’s her floral and vanilla but there’s … warmth?  
  
_ **_Exactly. Warmth means happy. She’s happy and it’s because of us. We’re the sunshine. Understand?  
  
_ ** Ben smiles into her hair. Smiles a genuine, elated smile because here, like this, for the first time in his life, he feels complete. With her.   
  
**_That’s better. Jesus I should start charging you for my time.  
  
_ ** _We’re Jewish.  
  
_ **_THAT’S what you latch onto?  
  
_ ** “We shouldn’t take another pill,” he murmurs, stubbornly ignoring Kylo’s bitching and not letting himself get roped into a mental match, “think you can hold out a little longer?”  
  
“Yea—”  
  
“Do you have any garbage?”  
  
 _The fucking flight attendant!!  
  
_ “No,” he growls without releasing Rey even a fraction.  
  
“Perfect,” she coos ignoring his flippant tone, “sir? May I ask you both to please right your seats and put on your belts for landing? We’ll be touching down shortly.”  
  
With a scowl, he releases his mate and nods. Afterall, there’s no point in making a scene. Not now. Not considering how close they are.

  
  


…

  
  


The next 20 minutes fly by (pun intended) quietly.   
  
They hold hands for the entirety of the descent. Take turns brushing thumbs over delicate (and overheated) skin. Take turns squeezing at intervals to let the other know they’re there even if words fail them. The weight of what’ll happen in less than an hour hanging like an imminent storm over their heads. A stifling pressure felt deep in their bones.  
  
There is, of course, an electric undercurrent of excitement. A giddiness at the prospect of spending the better part of a week fucking each other’s brains out. For his part, Ben imagines all the wonderful ways he wants to impale her on his lap. Mind reeling as he mentally maps her house and imagines bending her over, or fucking her up against, this counter or that chair.   
  
Yet above the horny film-reel in his head, there’s a thread of worry. Fears of not being enough, of not knowing what to expect even if their biology is battering at the door with single minded purpose. An anxiety rooted in fear of the unknown, even if the mechanics is something they’re both familiar with.  
  
And the observant physician in him? Well, he notices things too. Little microscopic changes in her behaviour as the plane descends. At first it’s a small flinch. A scrunching of the nose and a flutter in the hollow of her throat. It progresses to eyes squeezing shut, abdominal flexing, tiny grunts and long exhales through her nose like she’s trying to breathe through pain.  
  
Every attempt he makes at inquiring about her state is met with placation. Gently spoken assurances of ‘I’m fine’ and ‘just a little cramp’ accompanied by small smiles and squeezed fingers. But the air around her tells a different story. A sweetness that intensifies with every few thousand feet they descend. An exponential surge that sets his nerves on edge and tightens his pants.  
  
He’s being clobbered by the biological need to fuck her right there and the need to cocoon her from covetous eyes. The words _mine, mine, mine_ chanting like a war cry in his head even if he’s not really sure if it’s him or Kylo’s doing … or even _why_ there’s a war raging in his body in the first place.  
  
By the time they land and the jet bridge is secured, by the time the door clangs open, he’s practically sweating. Every hair on his body standing on end and his blood pressure through the roof. He _almost_ forgets his overnight bag in his single minded effort to tug her out of their seats and into the terminal.   
  
Her hand feels warm in his, a little sweaty and shockingly limp. She lags, tripping over her own feet tiredly as he drags her along like a petulant child. Periodically whining that ‘it hurts’. The rational part of his brain wants to stop and ask her to elaborate. Wants to take a moment and cycle through her list of symptoms and provide if not a cure at least some kind of temporary relief. Not every ailment can be cured, but there is _always_ a way to ease the worst of symptoms.   
  
But that’s just the doctor in him. Definitely _not_ the guy dancing perilously on the slippery minutes making up the bluffs of time. Not the guy who’s seconds away from … what had Kylo called it? Aah, yes. A _very hard rut.  
  
_ As they step out onto the snow dusted pick-up area, he barely notices a few males sniff the air. One of them turns to follow but quickly changes direction when he (probably) gets wind of Ben’s acerbic mood. Corrosive with a hint of danger, curled protectively over his mate’s back and broadcasting an air of murder.  
  
His original plan had been to hail an Uber. Having learned the hard way that the airport and her house are separated by an exorbitantly overpriced fare. But now, with the way her scent’s intensified, with the way she grunts and clutches her abdomen, he finds he couldn’t give a single fuck about price. He’d pay the equivalent of another business class ticket to get her to her front door and not bat a single eyelash.  
  
His glazed eyes scan the curb for their next mode of transportation, mouth seeking out her glands to lap lazily over them. The pleasure he’d normally extracts from tasting her temporarily lessened by the need to leave his scent over hers. Letting it mask her ripeness while he follows the line of cabs until he spots the one.  
  
So he half-pushes half-carries her to the available cab idling at the head of the line. Opens the door to the back seat and diligently sniffs (because Kylo insists on making sure the driver isn’t an Alpha) before depositing his precious cargo inside.  
  
After sliding his bag and folding his giant self in, after rattling off the address and feeling the comforting crunch of snow under rolling tires, he finally lets himself look at her again without the fog of anxiety blanketing his senses.   
  
Rey’s folded herself in half. Forehead resting against the driver’s seat and practically Lamaze breathing. Her arms are wrapped around her middle, sandwiched between her chest and thighs. Wisps of baby hairs stick to her sweaty forehead and temples.   
  
“Sweetheart,” he reaches to touch her damp thigh, “are you alright?”  
  
“Alpha,” she sobs, “it hurts so much.”  
  
The way she says the word ‘Alpha’ makes his eye twitch and a zing shoot down his spine straight to his dick. His entire life force focusing on the singular creature folded over a foot away. His reason for being.   
  
It’s a ridiculous notion, he notes somewhere in the back of his conscience, this concept of existing only for her. But it feels like an undeniable truth. Not a theory anymore, but scientific law.   
  
The only time in his life Ben’s ever had this pinpoint tunnel vision is when he’d been on the cusp of cracking open a case. Scenting the finish line and throwing his mental fortitude into that last little bit to close it out.   
  
That’s what being with her right now feels like. He physically can’t think of anything else (but how much he wants to be buried in her clutching heat) to save his life. Every atom of every cell in his body focused on _her.  
  
_ **_Mmmmh … mate needs a knot.  
  
_ ** _Shit. I need more time.  
  
_ “Rey, c’mere,” he tugs her elbow gently. Shoves the bag onto the floor and helps scootch her closer so he can wrap an arm around her.   
  
It’s a pathetic attempt at consoling and he knows it. She’s in pain. She needs him. And here he is patting her on the back like she’d just won a stuffy match of croquet while servants prepare afternoon tea. Anxiety spiking yet again because he _can’t do anything_ about it just yet. It’s torture having her so close yet being still so far away.   
  
His sense of time might be slipping in a vortex of urges, but rationally he can see the city’s traffic. Fat snowflakes falling around them and the endless parade of brake lights ahead. He may not know how much longer, but he knows they’ve got a ways to go because she lives outside the city and they’re woefully still _in_ the city.  
  
“What can I do? Let me help you, sweetheart,” his voice sounds strangled, “please.”  
  
Ben’s mildly aware that he’s shaking. On the verge of tears or ripping the cab apart or combusting. One of those things. Maybe all.  
  
He’s spiralling, tumbling like he’s in a washing machine of emotions. Being shredded by the force of the spin cycle. The visual of a misfiring neuron, stripped of its myelin sheath with impulses skittering jaggedly down its axon, comes to mind first _(fucking Dameron)_.   
  
So he’s really not sure how it happens. One minute he’s squeezing his eyes shut, trying to breathe through the barrage of emotions, the next she’s straddling his lap and burrowing her nose into his neck. Rocking her nose from side to side between his still-raw mating bite and throbbing scent gland.  
  
“Alpha,” she moans into the crook of his neck.  
  
It _does_ things to him. Things he can no longer control. Tired of fighting against the current and finally bending to its will.  
  
His hands (whether willing or unwilling he doesn’t have the brain power to discern anymore) rise to wrap around her waist. To pull her down and make contact with his aching erection.  
  
Ben’s not sure which one of them does it first. Which one of them begins grinding. Only that he doesn’t have the strength to stop it anymore. He nuzzles into her neck in return and groans with each pass of her hot center over his.  
  
 **_Fuck her.  
  
_ ** What he _should_ do is figure out a way to diffuse their animalistic instincts for just a little longer. They’re _so_ close. _Too_ close. But he can’t. He’s been reduced to incoherent grunts and sloppy, uncoordinated thrusts. Seeking out completion. The warmth of joining their bodies.  
  
One of his hands shifts to grip her hip in a bruising hold, the other snakes up to wrap around the base of her neck. To pull her down harder, with more gusto. His mouth finds her neck and begins assaulting her scent gland. Messy sucking and lapping, slobbery and wet and abso- _fucking_ -lutely perfect.  
  
There’s no rhyme or reason. No teasing or slow build up. It’s ravenous. A quenching of thirst so affecting, he imagines Dracula must experience the same degree when he wakes after hundreds of years of slumber. Her gland, the supple pulse point of an unwitting virgin, ready to be drained by ravenous fangs.  
  
 **_Fuck her NOW.  
  
_ ** They’re a mess of tangled limbs, grunting and panting, soft moans and wet suction. Hands exploring mindlessly before returning to their original position. Searching out the anchor to steady the storm before lurching out again.  
  
The cab driver clears his throat and Ben has the wherewithal to (while his lips travel up the column of her neck) fish for his wallet and pull out a bill. Any bill. Hoping it’s something substantial enough to buy the discretion they so desperately need. He holds the bill towards his best estimation of the center console. Not _once_ does his attention (nor his lips) wander from her.   
  
He feels the bill plucked out of his hand. Hears the cabbie chuckle under his breath, mumble something that sounds a lot like ‘kids these days’. That’s all he has the mental capacity to process before he’s sucked back into their bubble of lust.  
  
 **_Fucking knot her you mule!  
  
_ ** Faces tilt, glands shift to mouths and mouths latch onto lips. Tongues explore and hands wander. He finds his own hand slipping under her grotesque sweater to pull her bralette down and thumb her nipple. An act that has her moaning sinfully into his mouth, vibrating him right down to his balls.   
  
His lap feels oddly damp as darkness begins to envelope the backseat. As the streaks of light permeating the window become more scant. There’s drool dripping out of the corner of his mouth ... or hers. Who knows. Who cares. All he knows is he’s a few scraps of clothing away from fucking the most perfect woman on the planet and she’s needy for _him_.  
  
 **_And if you just unzip your pants and tear those flimsy leggings you could be ...  
  
_ ** He does a mediocre job memorizing the pliancy, the weight, the responsiveness of her breasts. First one than the other. Kneading and plucking, teasing and rolling. Spreading his palm and pressing it against her sternum to feel her fluttering heartbeat before freeing the other breast to repeat the motion. In a few short minutes he’ll get to do this with his mouth, so he licks into hers and sucks on her tongue in a silent display of what he’ll do to her tits later.  
  
At some point, when street lights have become rare and the radio conversation on the cabbie’s comm has become a garbled rendition of Charlie Brown’s teacher, his hand drifts lower. Curling into the elastic of her leggings to flatten against her lower belly.  
  
Somewhere in the recesses of his mind he recognizes the ripple he feels there as a cramp, but that’s all lost when his middle finger skims the edge of her soaked panties. He might whimper into her mouth, he’s unable to find the appropriate word for whatever fucking noise escaped him—   
  
**_It’s definitely a whimper you stubborn dick. Now KNOT HER already!  
  
_ ** —but she tilts her hips up to meet him in invitation. And Ben is _not_ the type to look a gift horse in the mouth. With the opportunity laid before him, he dips in further, ignoring the drenched pulpy wad (he assumes is the toilet paper she’d mentioned at his house hours ago) to slide his middle finger through her folds.   
  
She’s hot. And wet. No … wet is … words. Articulation. Hard.  
  
 **_That’s slick. KNOT HER!  
  
_ ** She’s gushing. He’s barely touching her and his finger is soaked. He’s hardly sure if what he’s pushing on is heated skin or the slippery goodness she’s produced for him. It’s a mess of wet and gooey and hot and ecstasy.  
  
“Is this for me?” He murmurs into her mouth, cupping her sex.  
  
“Yes, Alpha,” she moans back, “all for you.”  
  
 **_Knot. Her. Already.  
  
_ ** Fingers slip lower to circle the heat of her opening. Letting her rock against his finger before pushing in. He can feel it, the way her muscles begin to clench in an effort to pull him in further.  
  
“Ohhh _shiiiiiit …_ you’re so ready for me.”  
  
Here’s a fun fact: Ben’s never been vocal. Not that he doesn’t want to be. The one time he tried to let loose in college with some _very vanilla_ dirty talk, he’d been met with a condescending glare and an ‘I just remembered a paper I forgot to work on’. So he’s learned to clamp his mouth shut since then. Swallowed back the filthy words clogging his lexicon in order to heighten his chances of getting any.  
  
Apparently whatever this disease is, has managed to unclamp it, to release the clog—   
  
“Mmhmm,” she sighs hips rocking into his hand, “want your knot. _Please_.”  
  
—and she apparently likes him being vocal?  
  
 **_There you go. Call her Omega.  
  
_ ** “Soon ... Omega. As soon as we get you home I’m gonna knot this tight little pussy.”  
  
He accentuates his words by slowly dipping his middle finger in and out of her. Finding the hood of her clitoris with his thumb and drawing tight circles.  
  
“Mmhmm…”  
  
“You like that? Want my knot?”  
  
“Mmmm-y-yes Alpha.”  
  
 **_Omigod yess you guys are getting the hang of this.  
  
_ ** “Want me to f-fill you up?”  
  
 **_FUCK YEAH! That’s the shit!  
  
_ ** He’s rambling at this point … incoherently but she likes it and he doesn’t give a fuck.  
  
“Y-yeah,” she sighs against his lips, “gimme pups.”  
  
The weirdest thing happens with her breathy little utterance. His knot starts to inflate. He’s not even inside her and the fucking thing is swelling. He might be completely green to this Alpha business, but he’s pretty sure that’s what the mind melting tingle at the base of his dick is. He’s also pretty sure she’d mentioned something about knots being meant to keep his dick locked _inside_ .  
  
 **_She wants pups. We give pups. Yes yes yes.  
  
_ ** “You want my pups?”  
  
Yep. He’s been reduced to a grunting, grinding, finger fucking mess of a man who’s spewing ‘dirty talk’ about something he doesn’t fully understand. Him. Dr. Solo. The guy whose every factual utterance is backed by a minimum of 3 peer-reviewed papers published in the last decade.   
  
Thank goodness the only witness to his devolved personhood is a cabbie in Anchorage and his deliriously horny mate squirming in his lap.  
  
 **_Pups. Offspring. It’s not rocket science. KNOT HER!  
  
_ ** _Oh...  
  
_ “Y-yeah.”  
  
He’s too horny to _not_ run with it. Besides, would it really be so bad? Sure his Alpha is losing his fucking shit. Clanging pots and pans, setting off party poppers and blowing trumpets, throwing confetti and spraying champagne. Because apparently the concept of impregnation is _key_ to his Alpha. But besides that would it really be so bad? Having a little DNA meld of him and her? His mother would get off his back. People would know she belongs to him.  
  
There’s something that screams masculine virility when he fleetingly imagines her nice and round with his child.  
  
Eeh, let’s go with it. Besides, it makes his dick twitch so it can’t be so bad to run with the fantasy.  
  
“Want me to pump you full of cum until we make sure you’re nice and pregnant?”  
  
She shivers and moans. Apparently that is the _exact_ direction of conversation he should be taking.  
  
“I’ll give you pups,” he grinds through gritted teeth, “I’ll give you a dozen. A hundred. As many as you want.”  
  
 **_*whimpers*  
  
_ ** _W-what?  
  
_ **_I’m just … *sniffles* … so proud.  
  
_ ** _I don’t have the…  
  
_ **_Shhh shh shh. It’s alright. You go on back to doing what you were doing. Just know I’m so VERY proud of you.  
  
_ ** He releases his thumb in favour of grinding his palm against her clit. Continues pumping in time with her rhythm. Hand caught between a rock (his dick) and a soft place (her drenched cunt). And his mouth … well that’s busy mauling her.   
  
So there’s that.  
  
 **_This is the single greatest moment in my Alpha life.  
  
_ ** **_Can we get some fan fare over here? No? What have we got for party music? Oh God … his taste in music is awful! Never mind!  
  
_ ** **_Ben you’re doing so good. That’s right, make her cum on your fingers. It’ll tide her over until we get her to the nest.  
  
_ ** **_*sniff* Ooooh my G-God! I can’t wait to taste that slick.  
  
_ ** _Wha—  
  
_ **_Shhhh shhshh. Keep going.  
  
_ ** **_So good.  
  
_ ** **_Oh God we’re gonna knot our Omega so good. Over and over and...  
  
_ **“Here we are,” the cabbie clears his throat again, “that’ll be $85.90.”

  
  
  
  
  
  


**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Look, I know I'm putting the guy through the spin cycle. But he kinda deserves it after the way he's treated everyone amirite?
> 
> I'm done with the teasing by the way, promise.
> 
> Up next we finally, _finally_ , get Dr. Solo (consciously) laid.
> 
> **What is this stuff you read about?**   
>  [Aerophagia](https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Aerophagia)   
>  [Levothyroxine (or L-Thyroxine)](https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Levothyroxine)   
>  [Alendronic Acid](https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Alendronic_acid)   
>  [Crazy Eights (countdown is a variation)](https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Crazy_Eights)   
>  [Action Potential (ie. Nerve Impulse)](https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Action_potential)   
>  [Myelin](https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Myelin)   
>  [Axon](https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Axon)
> 
> **EDIT:** Thank you guys for the support re. the thievery incident. I wanted to let you know that thanks to the handy work of [Beebyyoda](https://archiveofourown.org/users/beebyyoda) and [QueenOfCarrotFlowers](https://archiveofourown.org/users/QueenOfCarrotFlowers) it was taken down. I don't think I can express my gratitude enough towards these two precious humans for what they've done. How, I don't know, but I'm convinced they are one with the Force and the Force is with them <3


	3. Chapter 3

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> _Getting into the house is … a challenge._
> 
> _Sure, he’d tucked her house keys into the side compartment of his bag after swiping them out of her purse at the airport. It was (or so he thought) a stroke of genius. He’d even convinced himself it’s what a good Alpha would do, what his Alpha would do. What taking care of her entailed. But now that they’re here, it’s a little hard to unzip and grab the blasted keys. Especially when he’s slipping all over the driveway with her wrapped around him like a horny koala. Harder still when he’s dry humping her roughly against her front door._

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Oh hai! This thing still on? Yeah?
> 
> Here's some porn ... finally.
> 
>  **PSA:** If you're new here, this is a continuation of [Patient Zero](https://archiveofourown.org/works/25829605/chapters/62748982)

Getting into the house is … a challenge.   
  
Sure, he’d tucked her house keys into the side compartment of his bag after swiping them out of her purse at the airport. It was (or so he thought) a stroke of genius. He’d even convinced himself it’s what a good Alpha would do, what _his_ Alpha would do. What _taking care of her_ entailed. But now that they’re here, it’s a little hard to unzip and grab the blasted keys. Especially when he’s slipping all over the driveway with her wrapped around him like a horny koala. Harder still when he’s dry humping her roughly against her front door.  
  
And yeah, maybe pulling his hand out of her leggings to pay the driver gave him an opening to grab the damn keys. And yeah, maybe now that his finger isn’t buried knuckle deep in her pussy he _could_ manage to extract them.  
  
But he’s let their bags clatter onto her snowy steps in favour of pawing at her tits (an anatomical part of great personal interest) again with his free hand. Wet and slippery as it might be, he’s left a snail trail of her aromatic slick the length of her torso and across her nipples (peaked to perfection courtesy of yours truly).  
  
 **_Might I suggest knotting our mate INSIDE the nest?  
  
_ ** _Shut. The fuck. Up.  
  
_ _I’m busy.  
  
_ **_You could get busier inside?  
  
_ ** **_Why the hell am I being the rational one? I’m supposed to be the primal part of you.  
  
_ ** **_UGHHH fine. Let me fix this.  
  
_ ** Ben feels the familiar warmth of his Alpha start slithering up his spine. The telltale beginnings of that takeover tingle. Like whatever vestibule inside his body contains this intrusive parasite has unlocked the gates, not just a trickle but a damn rush singeing his veins.  
  
 _No.  
  
_ _Mine.  
  
_ _Mine mine mine.  
  
_ **_*swats frustratedly*  
  
_ ** **_Then get inside!  
  
_ ** _No. Want. Now.  
  
_ **_And he has the audacity to call ME a caveman.  
  
_ ** **_You were a Neanderthal LONG before I woke up.  
  
_ ** **_Ben! If you don’t stop this right now, so help me God I WILL take over and we WILL get her inside. She’s in heat! Do you want her to catch a cold?  
  
_ ** _That’s not how a cold works. I’m the doctor. Fuckoff.  
  
_ **_And yet she was surrounded by germs on that plane. And right now you’re compromising her immune system by keeping her in the cold.  
  
_ ** Having a truth flung at him at breakneck speed irks him. Especially since it’s coming from a part of him he’s supposed to be in control over.  
  
 _*grunt*  
  
_ **_She could get sick because we’re being a bad Alpha. Do you want our mate to get sick?  
  
_ ** _No.  
  
_ “Fuck!”  
  
His cry of frustration rings loud in the silence surrounding them. Despite the sound dampening snow it manages to echo back and fill his ears, allowing a crystal clear rendition of his broken tone to ring back. Thick heavy flakes settle on their sweaters, hair … overheated skin. They look like drowned rats, if he’s being perfectly honest. Horny, drowned rats that have fallen into a sack of flour.  
  
As much as he’d like to consummate right here, colds and snow and outside be _damned_ , Kylo makes a valid point. Even if he won’t admit it to the fucker.  
  
“Sweetheart,” not like he’s stopped humping her into the grain of the wood though, “we need to get you inside.”  
  
 **_And...  
  
_ ** “And washed up,” he relents with a growl.  
  
 _You know, for the guy who insists on knotting every 5 minutes you’re…  
  
_ **_Make her come.  
  
_ ** _Wait … what? I thought you wanted…  
  
_ **_Yes, I know what I said. And we will. Just … open the door, get inside and make her come. It’ll temporarily ease her symptoms.  
  
_ ** “ _Alphaaaa_ ,” her whine drags his attention back to her writhing body. Pinned at the hips and squirming. Legs wrapped around his waist like an octopus latching onto coral against a strong current. Back to where his fingers are starting to tingle from cold despite resting against the heated skin of her breast. Where she’s started rocking her hips forward in search of friction because he’d stopped moving in favour of arguing with _fucking_ Kylo.  
  
“I’m gonna put you down now,” he warns before grasping her waist to steady her. Begrudgingly he puts distance between their hips, despite her disagreeing whimper, holding her tight until she regains her balance.  
  
“I c-can’t,” she shivers, “m-my l-legs…”  
  
 **_Told you!  
  
_ ** “I’ve got you,” he rasps, pulling her close and supporting her frame. Her legs wobble at the knees, settling on either side of his thigh where she begins grinding again.   
  
He _resolutely_ ignores her, despite wanting nothing more than to help her along again. Maneuvers himself to a semi slouch, scooping his bag with the snow-covered toe of his shoe and giving it a nudge up. Not enough to see it airborne, just enough to close the distance to his outstretched hand.  
  
To call his next moves an awkward, jittery mess would be an understatement. His fingers shake from cold or excitement or adrenaline or pure fucking horny. His bag is digging into his free thigh uncomfortably, the other end resting in the powdery snow. The zipper is a slippery fucking eel, sliding out of his fingers more times than he can count in his quest for the blasted keys.  
  
When he _finally_ wrenches the ridiculously over-baubled mass out of the compartment, he releases a triumphant ‘ha’. Sure ... his dick might explode if it doesn’t penetrate _something_ in the next 30 seconds but you simply can’t take the gloat out of a Solo.  
  
With nervous fingers he slips the key he remembers so well into the lock. Turns it and kicks their bags inside before lurching in with his (humping) mate glued to his side. It takes nothing for him to spin them around. Nothing to pin her back against the closed door to resume their activities.  
  
He _does,_ however, begin peeling her snow-crusted sweater over her head between heavy assaults on her mouth and neck.   
  
It’s hard to tell where he ends and she begins. Hard to tell which one needs the other more. But every time they gasp for air another layer of wet clothing is shed. While deft fingers pry and loosen fabric _during_ sloppy kisses, they’re shoved off unceremoniously when breathing becomes necessary.   
  
His own sweater is hanging around his neck, t-shirt half rucked up his chest, pants flared open clinging precariously by the tops of his glutes and (most probably) the erection pinning them against her. She’s topless now, the bralette having converted to a textile shelf, tits resting on the bunched up fabric begging for his mouth. Her leggings roughly tugged down to the knee alongside her panties, hopelessly stretched beyond repair, forgotten in the single-minded pursuit of exploring each other’s mouths again.  
  
 **_*ahem*  
  
_ ** _What now?  
  
_ **_Make her come?  
  
_ ** Aah yes. The orgasm that would (according to Kylo) offer her enough temporary relief for him to bathe her and get her to bed.   
  
_What about me?  
  
_ **_What ABOUT you?  
  
_ ** _Dude … my dick’s gonna explode!  
  
_ **_So?  
  
_ ** _*indignant sputtering*  
  
_ **_Listen here you self-absorbed prick. This isn’t about you for once. Every other day Alphas get to rule the roost. When our mate is in heat we bend to THEIR will. We only exist to serve HER. Do you understand?  
  
_ ** _I...  
  
_ Something about his Alpha’s words set off a chain reaction in his brain. A series of dams unlock to flood him with the undeniable truth — that he’s made to serve her. That right now, no matter how much he’s dying to sheathe himself inside that tight little cunt, he needs to give _her_ what she needs. That no matter how much he’s on the verge of turning savage, he would only have softness for her.  
  
It makes things easier, surprisingly. The revelation shedding new light on the nuances of his condition. Suddenly his own erection barely registers, leaving him laser focused on only her whimpers and sighs. Her need for relief.  
  
“Make … come,” words are still hard, okay? Harder still when you’re trying to get them out while nibbling down the column of your mate’s neck en route to her delectable tits. _Especially_ difficult when you’re trying to maintain a steady grind as a lumbering giant of 6 foot 3, having to awkwardly curl your spine in order to achieve said goal without losing friction.  
  
The minute his lips graze the taut peak of her nipple, his grip on reality slips into oblivion. Whatever thin grasp he still possessed to the outside world, slips between his fingers to leave him immersed in the experience of _her.  
  
_ His Omega.  
  
His mate.  
  
He starts with a few tentative swipes of his tongue. Rolling the hard bud in a tight circle, appreciative of it’s yield. Grazing it with lips just to feel the pucker of her sensitive areola and bathe his ears in the sounds of her jagged breathing and choked moans. Taking his time to focus on what brings _her_ pleasure, rather than fulfilling his own want to inhale the entirety into his mouth.  
  
 **_I am going to have an aneurysm.  
  
_ ** **_Are you seriously choosing NOW to take your time?  
  
_ ** _M’ Busy.  
  
_ His own problem pushed aside with every sinful moan he draws. Every perfectly timed nibble and corresponding thrust. With every lick and suck, she arches into the vacuum of his mouth a little more. So much he finds himself hopelessly lost in her pleasure which he’s pretty sure he can feel. Viscerally.  
  
 **_Orgasm. NOW dude!  
  
_ ** With a growl, he latches on firmly and sucks like he’s starved. Pulling with a force that will most likely leave her bruised. Debauched in a way that makes every possessive bone in his body sing. His hand snakes between their bodies to draw sloppy circles against her engorged bud.   
  
There’s the sounds of filthy squelching and indulgent, unfiltered moans. His head is trapped against her breast. Her fingers have speared into his hair, pulling with a force that _should_ elicit pain but yields only unchecked desire. He’s grinding himself against the hand working her furiously. Swiping again, and again, repeating motions when she moans loudly and changing pace when her volume falters.  
  
It happens in an instant. Somewhere between a repeated upward flick of his finger and a zing shooting to the tip of his dick. An about-face so severe he’s not even sure when or how it happened.   
  
The most wondrous thing.   
  
An epiphany forged between two sex-crazed hedons.  
  
She gives him a quiver. She gives him a sigh. Her body goes lax against the door even as her legs shake uncontrollably. A gush of something warm grazes his fingers before it patters against her tiles. The scent of her arousal crashes around him in waves _almost_ making him come in his pants.   
  
He hadn’t even registered that the feral grip she’d had in his hair had managed to ease. The borderline painful pull having turned to soft, gentle strokes carding through his messy hair. He’s just _that_ enamoured, _that_ entranced by the earth shattering, silent orgasm he’d just experienced with her.  
  
Because that’s what happened.  
  
He’d _felt_ it.  
  
How, he can’t explain. But he did. Sure, he’s still rock-hard in his boxers, but he’s as relaxed as if he’d come himself.  
  
“Fuck. Thank you,” she breathes with a thump he can only assume is her head falling against the door.  
  
 _Wow, that was fast.  
  
_ “Better?” He hasn’t released her nipple so his words are muffled. Lapping softly at the breast he’s just abused so wholly. Awareness sinking in that she’ll for _sure_ bear markings and that he’ll need to even them out (at some point).  
  
Because he’s gonna. He’s gonna mark her up _good.  
  
_ “Mmhmm,” she hums softly into the crown of his head, “much. Thank you, Alpha.”  
  
 **_You’re not out of the woods yet. Shower!  
  
_ ** _Is she … herself?  
  
_ **_No. Omega’s still very much in charge but she’s peeking through. It’s our best chance to take care of her and do this right.  
  
_ ** **_Git!  
  
_ ** Grudgingly, he detaches his mouth from her nipple. Kisses his way across the soft planes of her breast until he reaches her sternum to nuzzle the bony expanse. Her responding giggle leaves him grinning against her chest, lips pressed into her skin to vibrate in time with her pounding heart.  
  
“Let’s wash that airplane stink off, okay?”  
  
He doesn’t wait for her confirmation. Instead, he picks up the bags (scoops them up with his pinky) and fumbles his way in the dark through her house. With her glued to him like a limp koala, of course.  
  
Ben manages to only bump his elbow twice. Once on the corner of her kitchen counter which sends a jolt through his humerus, and once more against her fridge just shy of the bathroom door where he unceremoniously drops the bags. If he’d had more brain cells at his disposal, he would have turned on the light and maybe set her down on her feet. Based on Kylo’s assertions, she should at the very least (theoretically), have decent use of her legs again. Probably could have walked the meagre distance to the bathroom herself.  
  
But instinct, it turns out, is a fickle bitch. Sometimes this ‘Alpha’ business makes you want to rip a person’s throats out without so much as a trigger. Other times it makes you want to fuck your mate so hard you breach her cervix. And then there’s the odd time (like right now), where it renders you absolutely incapable of separating from your mate. Times when the idea of distance makes you want to crawl out of your own skin.  
  
So as awkward as fumbling for the light switch is, as awkward as wrangling the shower on is, as awkward as stripping their remaining clothes might be, he makes do without a single groan of discomfort. Because he’d have her nowhere else but glued right there to his side where she belongs. Even the counter merely a foot away is too far.   
  
Only once the water is the perfect temperature and he’s managed to peel off the remainder of their clothing does he set his precious mate on her own two feet. And just inside the lip of the tub so she stands no chance of tripping and hurting herself.  
  
He wastes no time stepping in behind her lest she feel the loss as acutely as he does. Even that minute loss of skin-to-skin sets his nerves on edge. Spinning her on (still very) wobbly legs and crushing her into his chest.  
  
“You okay, sweetheart?”  
  
He feels her hiccup against his chest. Despite the thunder of her shower head and the steady stream of hot water soaking their bodies, he can feel wetness there. She’s … crying?   
  
_What the fuck happened? I thought orgasms...  
  
_ “Hey, hey … no no no. Don’t cry. What’s wrong, baby?” His hands come up to cradle her head. Guiding it gently until she’s turned up to meet his eye where, yep, her eyes are red and those are definitely tears despite the shower’s best attempts at washing them away.  
  
“Alpha doesn’t want us,” she squeaks dejectedly, lip quivering before she glances away. Too shy or embarrassed by her admission to maintain eye contact.   
  
**_Oh God not again.  
  
_ ** “Wh-what? How can I not want you? What…”  
  
 **_You didn’t knot her. She’s upset.  
  
_ ** _That’s just ridiculous. We’re doing all this so I CAN. And do it right!  
  
_ **_I agree. Her Omega is extremely needy.  
  
_ ** _Well, no wonder they don’t like each other. This isn’t Rey, right? It’s her Omega?  
  
_ **_Affirmative.  
  
_ ** Ben works his jaw considering his best course of action. Hands idly rubbing her back and holding her close. Theoretically, they’re on course for some epic sex. If he can get through this quick shower and whisk her upstairs, that is. But to do that he’ll need to placate Rey’s Omega for just a little while longer.  
  
So…   
  
That command…  
  
 **_Excellent line of thinking.  
  
_ ** Okay. He can do this. It worked in the cab and plane, it can work again now. Kylo did it and he’d felt how it worked. Harnessing it shouldn’t be beyond his capacity. Gentle words of praise and a simple request. No big deal. At least not any bigger than his unattended erection. And if he sucks at it he can always get Kylo to do it right.  
  
 **_I have faith...  
  
_ ** “Omega,” her eyes snap to his (and maybe he likes this part a little), “you did so well. And I do want you. Very much. I promise. C-can I talk to Rey? Maybe?”  
  
The water batters his back and soaks his hair. One hand rubs soothingly up and down her spine while the other runs softly through her hair. Squeezing to soak it through. “Please,” he murmurs, hand untangling from her hair to stroke her cheek down to her mating gland.  
  
Just like he’d done what feels like a lifetime ago, he moves gently, eyes never leaving hers as he runs his thumb over her glands. Back and forth between the one that bears the crescent shape of his teeth and the one he’s sucked raw. Except now he knows intuitively that he’s soothing her worries, or, more specifically, soothing her Omega. Now, touching her glands isn’t speculative. It’s purposeful.  
  
Her eyes close and breathing evens. For a moment they just exist under the hot spray of the shower. Warm and wet, naked as the day they were born. Entwined in each other and perfectly content. Minus his obnoxious erection wedged (quite comfortably, might he add) between their bodies.   
  
Ben watches her eyes flit under her closed eyelids. Watches her brows knit together and unfurl half a dozen times. Little spasms of her corrugator muscle before she opens her eyes again to meet his.  
  
She doesn’t have to say anything. He already knows it’s _her._ Rey. His Rey. Her pupils have shrunk and the green in her eyes seems brighter. And if he happens to grin like a buffoon … well, it’s because of _her.  
  
_ “Ben,” she smiles that smile at him. The one that melts every bone in his body and turns him to utter goop. The one he knows she saves just for _him.  
  
_ “Welcome back, sweetheart.”   
  
He doesn’t wait for an answer yet again. Dips his head low to capture her lips delicately. Despite his burning need for her, the kiss is the softest of brushed lips. Slow presses to say the things he doesn’t yet have the guts to articulate.  
  
He doesn’t say it, but what he’s communicating with each consecutive press is the words, _I’ve missed you.  
  
_ What he feels with every returned kiss is _almost_ a response. If he concentrates hard enough he can _almost_ believe it’s real. _I’ve missed you too._

…

  
  


Things move well enough from there. He manages to shampoo them both using those shampoo bars of hers. At first he’d thought they were a nuisance, but quickly learned they gave him much better control. He’d even managed to condition their hair and lather up their bodies, too. It was, however, impossible to tell whether he’d rinsed the soap off her legs because whatever this ‘slick’ she produces is, does _not_ let up and is waterproof … apparently. But all things considered, the shower went off without a hitch.  
  
They were squeaky clean in no time.  
  
They’d even found an odd cycle of joking and heavy grinding. One moment he’d be grunting how much he wants to impale her on his dick, the next she’d bemoan the fact that it’s a ‘cock’ … that ‘dick’ is such a crude adolescent college term, which, of course, led to a bout of snickers. Which somehow (?) morphed into pinning her against the warm tiles to thrust his _cock_ between her folds in an imitation of sex while roughly manhandling her tits. Until, of course, something funny would draw their attention and the cycle would start anew.  
  
They’d repeated the motions until the shower ran cold and facing the music became inevitable.  
  
So with a heavy gulp, he turned off the water. Leaving them devoid of the warmth and noise. Leaving them alone to their heavy heartbeats and heavier breaths. Alone in the heaviest of moments.  
  
He reaches to grab one of the new towels he’d hung before he left. Yet another stroke of genius he thanks yesterday’s self for. A big, fluffy, brand new bath sheet that he wraps around her. Patting her down to soak up the excess water.   
  
“Hey, uh … Ben?”  
  
“Yeah?”  
  
“I’m sorry about her,” she grumbles, “she’s very … God she makes me feel like shit.”  
  
Ben holds her hand as she steps out of the tub, turning her gently by the shoulders to face away from him. Uses the towel to squeeze the excess water out of her hair before draping it over her shoulders and running his fingers through her silky tresses. It’s a shit detangling job, but it’s about as much as he can muster right now so it’ll have to do.  
  
If he happens to become transfixed by her red, pulsing scent gland … well. He’ll just steal a little taste.  
  
No biggie.  
  
“Don’t apologize,” he murmurs, lips grazing the raised flesh of her gland, “for anything.” Dipping his lips into the delectable nectar glazing her skin, he kisses the point of his transfixion. “We’re in this together. You and me. Fuck what they want.”  
  
 **_Heeeey! I’ve been good to you, haven’t I?  
  
_ ** His tongue traces his lips, collecting the pheromone infused cocktail glossing them and letting her nuanced aroma bathe his taste buds. The heady groan that escapes him is inevitable. As is the way he latches onto her gland to suck greedily.  
  
In response, her head lolls limply in the opposite direction, opening the curve of her neck to him for _more_ . Moaning quietly which only serves to make him double his efforts. His hands slink under the edge of the towel, each on a journey of their own. One upward to cup her breast, the other dipping low to slip against the wetness she makes for him.  
  
Because it _is_ for him. Every droplet, every gush. A physiological response to a stimulus (him — he’s the stimulus — fuck that feels fantastic).  
  
This is it. Isn’t it? The final moment.   
  
He feels it acutely. In the way the hairs on his forearms stand on end. In the way his d— _cock_ twitches valiantly. In the way her flavour unlocks something raw and primal inside him that he simply can’t contain any longer.  
  
Once he dries himself off he’ll carry her up that iron hazard her house calls a staircase, lay her down and he’ll finally, _finally_ , get to fuck her senseless. Though at this point he’s not even sure which one of them will be senseless. Maybe he’ll fuck them _both_ senseless.  
  
His vocabulary’s slipping … again.  
  
 **_Listen man, we’ve had a rough go of it. Maybe you leave the brain gymnastics behind and just get upstairs?  
  
_ ** _Yeah. Roger that.  
  
_ “Let’s get you upstairs, huh?” It’s a husky whisper against her delectable scent gland. He sounds wasted. Piss fucking drunk.   
  
Maybe he is. Because his reaction time is absolute shit.  
  
Somehow he’s lost track of an unknown quantity of time because...  
  
Somehow her body’s not in his hands anymore. Somehow, she’s turned around and pressed herself against the open bathroom door. Dark eyes glancing between his d— _cock_ and face. She nibbles on her lower lip, pulling it sinfully between her teeth. There’s a mischievous glint there, in her eyes. One he can’t place in his mental library of her facial expressions. It’s darker than what he knows her capable of but at the same time not completely unlike her either.  
  
“Come get me,” she breathes playfully before disappearing through the open door.  
  
And now he’s standing alone in the bathtub, dripping wet with a dire (leaking … he’s fucking leaking) erection and no mate in sight.  
  
 **_Ohhhhh yes, YES! We like this game.  
  
_ ** His Alpha _might_ be licking his chops.   
  
In fact, he is.   
  
_He_ is.   
  
Ben.   
  
Ben is licking his chops because something about her running away has set off an ancient instinct he’s felt here before. The need to run. The need to give chase and capture. A ritualistic dance that speaks to the deepest recesses of his ancestral hindbrain.   
  
Grinning like the Cheshire cat, he grabs the nearest towel, not caring that it barely wraps around his hips, steps out of the tub and skids to the open door. Heart pounding against his ribcage and proverbial claws tingling with anticipation. Craving the soft give of pliant flesh to sink into. The thrill of the chase tingling down his spine and roiling in his stomach.  
  
If it’s possible, he can see better in the dark now. Maybe it’s because his pupils have fully dilated. Maybe it’s because he’s on the verge of going feral. More animal than man after practicing an ungodly amount of self control.  
  
A plume of her scent wafts towards him. Practically bowls him over drawing his attention to the staircase where he sees the delicate bones of her ankles, barely visible on her running ascent, disappear into the ceiling. Ankles he’s going to wrap around his waist. Around his neck. Ankles he’s going to _devour_.   
  
This delectable morsel running from her one true predator.  
  
 _Mine.  
  
_ He hears her giggle from above. A tinkling sound like the resonance of pure crystal. The sound of his own personal hunting horn signalling the chase is on.   
  
A frisson of excitement sets his nerves alight, making his di— _cock_ twitch in anticipation yet again.  
  
He’s going to catch her and he’s going to ravage her. Gobble up every last piece until she’s in every part of him and he’s in every part of her. Until there’s no Ben or Rey. No Alpha or Omega. Until there’s just one entity. Them. Connected and locked in place where they belong.  
  
There’s just one small problem. Her place isn’t big. Neither is the wrought iron staircase that coils _too_ tightly.   
  
Ben is, though.   
  
In his fevered state he makes it up all of 6 treads before he steps in something slippery. The lack of grip throws his footing off balance, sends him skidding backwards awkwardly until he stumbles and falls. Crumpling against the bathroom wall with a thud and a muffled ‘ow’.  
  
He registers a dull throb in his foot. One of his toes might be broken.   
  
_Fucking stairs.  
  
_ **_First of all, you didn’t dry off. It could also have been slick. Either way that’s all on you man.  
  
_ ** **_But we’ll definitely need a new nest for pups. Definitely. Something nice and safe.  
  
_ ** Ben stares up at the iron obstacle standing between him and his mate. The way the winding case looms high above him like the damned stairs of Cirith Ungol. Having already knocked him on his ass once.   
  
**_Stop waxing poetic. Get upstairs.  
  
_ ** _Fine.  
  
_ **_Now.  
  
_ ** _I said FINE!  
  
_ Carefully, Ben stands up and gives his toes a curious wiggle. Noting (thankfully) they’re not broken but definitely sore.  
  
Carefully, he takes the stairs two at a time. Focused on watching his feet and fitting them _onto_ the outside of the treads where they’re widest to ensure maximum support. Testing the step for any potential slipping hazard in the process. He _might_ also be holding onto the handrail for dear life.  
  
Carefully, he keeps his instinct to chase her at bay in favour of making it up the stairs in one piece.  
  
Carefully he …  
  
When he clears the top to stand in the middle of her loft bedroom, his thoughts fizzle. Because the sight before him gives him a mild bout of arrhythmia.  
  
There’s his mate kneeling in the middle of her bed. Naked and glowing. The little sliver of moonlight shining through the window illuminates and catches the shimmering slick coating her thighs. Dripping down to her knees and already creating a wet spot on the blanket.  
  
But that’s not why his heart stutters in his chest. No.   
  
Sure, he’ll never get tired of seeing her like this. But what really catches his breath, what really stops his world from spinning, is the circle of blankets she’s made.   
  
It’s comprised of her old blankets and the new one he’d bought her. Most of her sheets and pillows. It also includes the clothes he thought they’d left in the bathroom and a few choice items out of his bag. Somehow, he even recognizes the crusty bedsheet he thought they’d left behind on his bed.  
  
 **_*sniffles* our nest. S-so beautiful.  
  
_ ** He doesn’t have the mental fortitude to ask just how she’d come about these items. When, in their short game of cat and mouse, she’d had the time to collect all these loose items. How she’d managed to get her hands on something that should be home in Coruscant. Because right now the only thing he can manage is, “is … is this nest for us?”  
  
It’s barely a breath. Reverent and awed. His throat constricting around the utterance because he’s never been so wholly affected by something his normal self would deem so mundane. Disorganized. Filthy, even.  
  
But no.   
  
Ben’s seen many wondrous things in his life. He’s seen terminal patients go into remission. He’s seen his father use 3 small words to disarm the worst of his mother’s temper. He’s seen David fucking Blaine live. Twice!  
  
But this … this is the most wondrous of all.  
  
“Yes, Alpha.”  
  
He stalks forward, one foot before the other like he’s still working his way up those hazardous steps. Slow, calculated steps so as not to spook her. Towards prey that _wants_ to be caught. Prey that’s prepared not only itself, but its own side dishes. Plating, presentation and all.   
  
He comes to rest at the edge of the bed, hand reaching to cup her cheek and stroke his thumb over the apple, reverent still. “Beautiful,” he chokes back tears.  
  
Because _she_ is. Their _nest_ is. _Everything_ about this moment is. Beautiful.  
  
Ben can’t really fathom what he’s done in this life to deserve this. What gods have shined favourable light to bestow him with this … gift. This complete and utter perfection.  
  
“Alpha? _Ben,_ please,” her hands begin to fumble limply with his towel, fingers devoid of strength, “please, Alpha. I n-need your kn-knot.”  
  
Now here’s the thing. Ben Solo is _not_ the most experienced man on the continent. On the planet, most likely.  
  
His sexual encounters can be chalked up to a few fumbling attempts with his high school girlfriend, a few romps in college and med school that ended … prematurely, and the handful of dates he’d scored off an app which he would consider satisfactory at best.  
  
In all of those cases, they’d been so worked up they took the lead and he, in his horny haze, had been reduced to grunting and panting. A thrusting machine. He’s never taken the time to properly _learn_ what makes a woman’s body sing.  
  
So, of course, that same doctor with a professional ego the size of the Burj Khalifa, has never felt more inadequate than he does right now. With his beautiful, squirming mate pawing at his toweled waist, begging for something he has yet to consciously experience. Mewling so sweetly and calling him Alpha which only serves to frazzle whatever remaining brain cells he’s got left.  
  
He doesn’t _want_ to just fuck her mindlessly to orgasm. He wants to give her an endless _string_ of orgasms. Wants to make her moan his name over and over while she clamps down around his cock and milks him dry.   
  
So he supposes his current conundrum, the one that finds him incapable of movement other than blinking as he stares down at her, is that he’s torn. Torn apart by the need to make it good for her and the need to sheathe himself immediately for relief.  
  
Her head tilts up, shiny pools of obsidian pleading wordlessly. Her hands fall to the side in a silent admission of failure. Of total submission.  
  
“ _Please,_ ” one last attempt to stir her Alpha to action.  
  
 **_If you don’t move now … I’m taking over.  
  
_ ** **_MOVE.  
  
_ ** Ben remains … frozen. Lost in her eyes and her scent. Lost in the beautiful nest she’s made them. The little corner tucked away from society that’s just theirs. Surrounded by the scent of him and her and them and … that’s his mate.   
  
Mmmh. Mate. Mate. Mate.  
  
 **_For the love of God.  
  
_ ** For once, Ben welcomes Kylo’s intrusion. Doesn’t fight when the Alpha’s takeover tingle begins to warm his veins and nudge his frozen form into action.   
  
He sees his own hands stroke her cheeks. Sees them glide down the slope of her neck and shoulders. Feels his body lower into the circle of their union.   
  
His body leans forward, looming over her. One arm reaches back to brace himself against the mattress. The other releases the towel and presses against her sternum to guide her down. Strokes down her breastbone, down the planes of her stomach, until he reaches the cradle of her thighs. Continuing its journey by guiding her legs open, smoothing over her velvety skin. All the while their bodies continue their descent.  
  
Down and down until she’s settled on her back. Her hair forming a damp halo of chestnut on a pillow. Until he’s hovering over her, the weight of his d— _cock_ resting against the crease of her thigh.  
  
His eyes never leave hers. Even as his Alpha uses his hand to wrap around the base of his … _cock_. Even as that hand starts sliding his length between her folds to bathe him in her essence. Even as he feels himself slide into position, hovering just before the gates of heaven. Hot and pliant, open and waiting for him to enter.  
  
And then the weirdest thing happens. His Alpha retreats. Those tendrils controlling him like a marionette snap to give him autonomy. Not completely as to leave him alone. Just enough to let him take center stage.   
  
What a class act.   
  
Ben takes a shuddering breath, lets the scent of Rey fill his senses and drown out any residual fears. Lets it convert those remnants of fear into pure, unadulterated resolve.   
  
He won’t disappoint her. He won’t leave her hanging. He _will_ make it good.  
  
It’s a silent vow as he presses forward. Both with his … _cock_ and his body.   
  
Inch by yielding inch he sinks into her clutching heat. Feels her walls work to pull him closer. Cradle his length. Caress every bit he feeds her wanting body. Rey gasps and squirms, finds room to accommodate him. Undulations of her hips, rolling them forward because she’s an impatient, greedy Omega.   
  
Correction, _his_ impatient, greedy Omega.  
  
He drops his head into the crook of her neck groaning because this is nothing short of exquisite. Nosing right at the marred flesh he’d sunk his teeth into hours ago which only serves to heighten the experience. Inhaling the scent of _them_ as she accepts him into her body.   
  
Pushing and groaning, pushing and nosing, and pushing some more until he’s there. Skin meeting skin and his conscience gives way because he’s achieved nirvana. Because he can feel it there in the endless chasm of bliss they’ve just fallen into. The pulse of her needy cervix just grazing the tip of his hyper-sensitive head because she’s the perfect fit. She’s made for him and he’s made for her. He can feel her shudder around him, testing the fit. Surrendering to it. _Enjoying_ it.  
  
It leaves him breathless. Enveloped inside her body everything melts away until he doesn’t know where he is or who he is anymore. All he knows is that yesterday doesn’t matter. Neither does tomorrow. He’s exactly where he needs to be right now and time is a meaningless construct.  
  
 _Gotcha.  
  
_ **_Prey caught and pinned. Initiate phase devour.  
  
_ ** He curls his back and pulls out half-way. It’s experimental more than anything. An attempt at catching his breath and finding his bearings. Except … bewildered is all he feels. By how incredible the slide feels. By how the friction of their coupling drives him absolutely mad with want.   
  
Rocking his hips to give them both a taste of what’s to come, he’s overwhelmed by the sensation. Moans loudly into the crook of her neck because she’s hot and tight and … _fuck_ he’s going to pound her impression into the mattress until it’s hopelessly destroyed.  
  
 **_Dewit.  
  
_ ** It clicks, just then. Maybe it’s the feel of her. Maybe it’s the last of his insufferable doctor persona melting away. Maybe it’s the fact that he’s now completely unhinged. His control snaps and he is left with only the raw instinct to procreate. To fuck her until she’s undeniably his and their union produces … results.  
  
“You want my c- _cock_ , Omega?”  
  
“Yes,” she chokes on her whisper.  
  
“You want me to fill you up? Give you pups?”  
  
“ _Yes,_ ” she cries, voice tinged with lust and impatience.  
  
“Then take it.” In one (surprisingly) smooth motion, he rolls his hips forward to sheathe himself again in full. This time, the tip of his cock _does_ bump her cervix. The responding moan she releases is guttural. Animal. Raw.  
  
Ben goes from 0 to 100 in the span of exactly a single second.   
  
Where before he was gobsmacked and frozen, now he dives in headfirst. Gorges on the scorching heat of her body.   
  
He sets a punishing pace. Thrusting with a force that shifts their bodies up the bed again and again. Punctuating each thrust with an upward grind to work her clit in tandem. Reduced to drooling and panting against the gland that bears his mark every time their hips meet.  
  
 **_Eeh, you’ve hit rut, brother. Enjoy it.  
  
_ ** One hand cradles her skull, the other’s grips her arms above their heads. Pressing her down into the mattress. Pressing himself ever deeper into her tight cunt. Pressing his teeth and tongue into the patch of skin that makes her _his_. Pressing against her cervix with every jolting thrust.  
  
If he had any qualms about possibly being too rough, about possibly hurting her, they’re quashed instantly. She begins chanting, “yes yes _yes_ ,” and “fuck me, Alpha,” and “gimme your knot.”   
  
And he?   
  
He picks up right where he left off in the cab. His mouth and filthy lexicon lubricated by the squelch of his rhythmic thrusts, by the saliva dribbling from his lips because she’s delicious and he can _taste_ her lust and want and _fuuuuck.  
  
_ “Gonna give it to you.”  
  
 **_Yes.  
  
_ ** “Gonna fill you up.”  
  
 **_YES.  
  
_ ** “Gonna fuck you so deep your uterus will take a cum bath.”  
  
 **_Okay now that’s a little…  
  
_ ** “Cum straight in there. Like a fucking turkey baster. Gonna flood your womb.”  
  
 **_OOoohoho okay Dr. Romeo, rein it in with the crazy.  
  
_ ** “Yes, Alpha,” she writhes, rolling her hips forward to meet him thrust for thrust, “flood … _aah_ … gimme pups.”  
  
 **_And … she likes it. Okay then.  
  
_ ** **_Cut from the same cloth indeed.  
  
_ ** He fucks her hard. Harder than he’d even thought he was capable of. Jostling their bodies. Setting her tits bouncing, nipples dragging deliciously against his sweaty chest. Those delectable fucking breasts that taste like heaven and are pillowy soft.  
  
He wants to feel them. So he lets his hand trace down the slope of her neck to roughly grab a bouncing tit. Lets its softness fill and mold to his palm. Lets his thumb and index finger pinch that perfect nipple because he _can_ and she _likes_ it. He pinches and rolls the bud and draws the most inhumane sounds from her and it’s _glorious.  
  
_ He detaches his lips from her gland if only to look down and … _ooh God_ the sight sets him off harder. Pounding into her with renewed vigour and making the bedframe squeak with the force of his thrusts because it’s fucking _beautiful_ the way she takes him.  
  
“You … you’re made for me, Omega,” he grunts.  
  
 **_Ok back in the realm of normalcy.  
  
_ ** Watching the sheen on his cock when he pulls out only to hear her unabashed moans when he surges back. Feeling the way she grips and clings, squeezes him in her wet heat.  
  
“Y— _fuuck_ — you gonna milk my cock?”  
  
 **_If you make a bovine analogy right now I’m taking over. Focus, Don Juan! Knotting is endgame.  
  
_ ** Ben doesn’t need to be told twice.  
  
He fucks into her with everything he has. Unlocks every stored kilojoule of strength and energy and pours it into his pistoning hips. Consuming her voraciously. Chasing the sounds and smells. The little puffs of air he forces out of her lungs every time he bottoms out roughly. The visual of his girth splitting her open. The scent of arousal and sex that blooms with every thrust. It’s sweet and decadent and a feast for his senses. An infinity loop of bone-melting euphoria.  
  
It’s no surprise when he feels the tingle. No surprise when he finds himself incapable of making sounds beyond grunting and groaning like a rabid fucking animal. The visual of their fucking alone is enough to send him hurtling towards the edge.   
  
With every consecutive thrust, with every heady moan and filthy squelch he feels the familiar pressure of his orgasm build. Feels the base of his cock prickle with anticipation. Inflate at the root a little more each time their laps connect until … they don’t.  
  
Because she’s arching her back and wrapping her legs around his waist and pulling him closer and how is she so strong? It’s inhuman! He can only grind into her. Grind with a force that lifts their joined hips off the mattress until the hand on her breast snakes down to grab her in a bruising vice. Fingers digging possessively into her skin and lifting her hip to improve his angle.   
  
Just as the waves of pressure begin to melt into one another, just as they become one endless ocean of lust, he feels her clamp around his length. Hears her let out a long guttural moan, arching so beautifully it makes him _drool_.   
  
The force and sound of her orgasm draws his balls tight, vibrates him down to the very marrow of his bones. He’s so fucking ready. So ready to explode and flood her with his spend. To give her what she wants. Needs. She’s so good for him and so perfect and he’s going to come. He’s going to fill her up.  
  
“S-so good … _mmmh …_ so good for me, Omega. Coming on my cock.”  
  
Instinctively he drops his head. Jaw scraping against the dips and valleys of her shoulder until his mouth is pressed against her mating gland. Feeling it pulse beneath his lips.  
  
“You want my knot?”  
  
“Y-yes,” she sounds wrung out and desperate all at once.  
  
He’s going to give it to her. He’s going to give her _everything.  
  
_ “You’re mine,” he hisses and bites down again. Not hard enough to break skin, but enough to feel their mating bond flare and let her pleasure course through him.  
  
The tingling at the base of his dick crescendos. His vision whites out as he feels an unfamiliar swelling take root, locking them together and restricting his movements. With her endless climax surging through him and an abdominal flex so severe it knocks the air out of his lungs, he tips over the edge.  
  
Wave after wave of pure pulsing pleasure shoots through his body as he empties into her. An orgasm so life-changing it renders him senseless.  
  
The only coherent thought that skirts his thinning grip on reality is … _mine._

  
  


...

  
  


He can’t see properly. Nothing, really. Everything is white and good and his ears buzz and fingertips tingle.   
  
Every available cell in his body is all-hands-on-deck. Every ounce of blood has rerouted south to his groin. Focused on riding out the heightened bliss of their joint climax.  
  
And _what_ a climax.  
  
Ben’s not even sure he made it out the other end alive. Convinced he’d perished in an epic explosion of lust and cum. There’s a numbness that comes with such an intense wash of sensation. Like every muscle and every nerve fiber has entered a refractory period all at once.  
  
So when he feels her hands gently carding through his hair, when he does finally open his eyes to meet her bright ones in the dark, he can’t help huff out a surprised laugh. A terrible reaction choice, really.  
  
He’s not laughing _at_ her. He’s not laughing at himself either. Or how they got there. Or at how ridiculous it is that not even 3 days ago she was a complete stranger under his care suffering from a mysterious illness.  
  
It’s a reaction to relief. Having reached the proverbial peak together. Stumbled their way blindly through an unmapped tunnel and come out the other end unscathed.  
  
Then there’s the surprise factor. The fact that he’s coming out of one stupor only to be greeted by another one. The soothing feel of her fingers gently massaging his scalp. It sends a shiver down his spine and makes him groan with pleasure. Losing himself in the scrape of her blunt nails zig zagging through his damp mop.  
  
There’s a soft little snap above his head somewhere. Right at the crown of his head where her hands are busy giving him the most glorious head massage.  
  
 _I’m gonna kiss her.  
  
_ **_*grabs a cigarette*  
  
_ ** **_Be my guest.  
  
_ ** His Alpha is sated. Satisfied. Relieved, even. For the first time in days he feels like himself again—   
  
**_Don’t get used to it. This is a marathon and we’ve barely concluded the first leg. But my God, Solo. What a performance. Bravo!  
  
_ ** —and he’s happy to note that whatever he feels for this feral slip of a woman hasn’t dimmed with the ebbing of this … horny disease. Happy that it feels brighter. More pure.  
  
Her hands slip down to cradle his cheeks and … what magic is this?  
  
Why is his hair not falling into his face?  
  
Ben’s gotten used to the tips of his hair tickling his lashes. Always interfering with his line of sight unless he’s taken the time to properly style the damn mop. But when he doesn’t get a chance to tame it … well, it gets in the way.   
  
Gets in the way when hen he does things like deadlifts and bent-over rows at the gym. When it drips water into his eyes while he’s jerking off in the shower. Having to shake it aside when he’s playing piano or handwriting his mother’s holiday cards. He’s learned to ignore it, of course. Trained his facial nerves to bypass the stimulus. So it’s weird now to hover over her without it.  
  
Weird to look at her without a curtain of raven breaking the exquisite view.  
  
“W-wha,” he’s still breathless.  
  
“Hair tie,” she muses, thumbs pressing into the sides of his mouth like she’s testing the depth of his dimples because … yeah he’s grinning. “Wanted to see your eyes,” she adds softly.  
  
“W-where did … how … what?”  
  
She snickers softly. It’s adorable. Endearing as fuck and his heart might just beat right out of his chest. “You’re telling me that I’ve managed to stump _the_ Dr. Solo with a hair tie? Call the presses! This is the hottest news of the century,” she laughs freely, light-heartedly, “Finn will _never_ believe me.”  
  
He can’t help laughing along. The easiness of the moment, almost unbearable. As is the swelling in his chest which feels like it might just burst.  
  
“Hard to believe, I know,” he pants. Awareness seeping back in around the edges. Things like the sweat dripping down his back, the dampness of the sheets … the fact that he’s still buried balls deep in her cunt.  
  
“Would you be willing to repeat that on record?” He might still be getting his bearings but she’s definitely back to her normal self.  
  
He laughs again, utterly unable to wrap his mind around the fact that this woman _wants_ him. Exhausted and relieved and incapable of catching a full breath, he dips down to pepper her jaw with kisses. Trails them down to her ear and onto her neck where he proceeds to layer peck after peck onto the delicious gland that started it all.  
  
“Maybe,” he grunts.  
  
Every single kiss is a thank you.  
  
Every single kiss presses his disbelief and good fortune into her skin.  
  
She snorts beneath him, “are you planning on kissing the Omega off me?”  
  
 _The mouthy little minx.  
  
_ He chuckles into the column of her neck, an idea forming. Playful and carefree. Like a puppy with a second wind and a mischievous streak.  
  
Instead of kissing, Ben shifts his lips just below the gland and takes a deep breath. Loosely seals against the skin and blows an obnoxiously loud raspberry into the delicate flesh.  
  
It sets her off in a flurry of giggles. Legs flailing and hands slapping his soaked back playfully. Which is exactly the reaction he was going for.  
  
Except it also has the unintended effect of tugging at his knot. A sensation that crashes him back into orgasmic euphoria.  
  
Ben groans, feeling another load shoot straight into her stuffed cunt. Mutters a muffled ‘fuck’ against the column of her neck unable to control himself. In response, his precious mate goes deliciously limp. Her giggles morphing into a sinfully long, throaty ‘ _ohhh’_.  
  
This is fucking fantastic! Knotting is officially his new favourite thing.  
  
 **_Bees knees, amirite?  
  
_ ** He grinds into her experimentally. Testing the limits of his newfound ability with the curiosity of his teenaged self. Correction, his _horny_ just-discovered-jerking-off teenaged self. The one who could yank three loads out in a single session and went through kleenex boxes like it was his job.  
  
She’s started panting. Those delicate hands that were smacking him moments ago have speared into his hair and cradle his skull and she’s grinding back because this feels fantastic.   
  
It’s like they’ve discovered a superpower. The power of an endless orgasm.  
  
Her hips grind in time with his. Both of their bodies chasing more of that delicious sensation. A gush of something hot and wet spilling around where they’re joined. He muffles another expletive into her neck as he feels himself cum again. Ripples of hot pleasure shooting through his cock and she shudders again. Another orgasm ripped out of her. Silent like the one against her front door.   
  
So quiet you almost wouldn’t know.  
  
But he can feel it. Feel the way she clamps around him. The way she milks him. The way her heart pounds against his lips at her throat. Feel it like it’s his own. If he had more brain power available, he might question its relation to the bite. But he doesn’t.  
  
Blissed out by the quickest, most intense orgasm they’d just discovered, they stop moving. Twitching and hyper-sensitive, panting because they’d just come _again_ . Unsure of what’s going on and frozen for fear of triggering it again.   
  
Not that it doesn’t feel fantastic. He’d totally do that again. But his arms are starting to tremble and he feels himself on the brink of collapse. He’s not sure just how long he’s been planking above her for but it’s long enough that he might buckle any minute.  
  
And he can’t be crushing this precious human who actually _wants_ him.   
  
“Wow, that’s new,” she gasps, arms wrapping around his shoulders to pull him in tight.   
  
“M gonna,” he stutters, still out of breath, “I’m gonna crush you, sweetheart. Here.”  
  
He does his best to glue their hips. To immobilize their pelvises while shifting them to their sides. Finds _that_ uncomfortable still with the way they’re stuck together so he shifts again onto his back, draping her body over him.   
  
_Better.  
  
_ “Mmh, better,” she agrees out loud. Nosing at his scent gland and snuggling into his chest.  
  
 **_I must say, I’m thoroughly enjoying watching you struggle through this.  
  
_ ** _You knew, didn’t you?  
  
_ _But you didn’t say anything?  
  
_ **_Just giving you a taste of your own medicine.  
  
_ ** Ben rolls his eyes. Dips his head to inhale a lungful of her rich scent that’s now carrying the tang of him and sex. Grins like he’s never grinned before because he’s _never_ been this happy. Never felt _this_ complete.  
  
Despite everything that’s happened since her file arrived on his desk, despite all the highs and lows, the confusing emotions and urges battering his body, he can admit he’d do it all again to arrive right here in this moment in time. Content, sated, with the most perfect creature in the world draped warmly over him. Drowsing with her in his arms.  
  
And, yeah. His Alpha’s a dick. A fucking asshole sometimes. Ben would bet handsomely on the fact that he probably has a tip or 2 up his sleeve he’s withholding. About how to position their bodies or about knotting in general. Tips he’s probably saving for leverage at one point or another in the future.  
  
But Kylo’s a thoughtful Alpha, too. He’d let him experience this knotting business for himself in a safe environment. Held his hand through this clusterfuck. Explained when things weren’t clear, guided him when he was lost. Brought him right to the threshold. But he didn’t push Ben through. No. Kylo let him walk through himself.   
  
Ironically, Kylo did a better job at parenting than he’d ever gotten from his biological DNA donors. Not that he doesn’t love his parents. But this is the most nurturing he’s received in decades.  
  
Yeah. His Alpha’s definitely a pompous ass with a mean streak. But he’s Ben’s pompous ass with a mean streak. And he’d have it no other way.

  
  


**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Listen. I know this took forever to crank out. And in retrospect ... it coulda probably been 2 chapters.
> 
> Heat porn is hard, okay? Harder still when you're trying to write it from an obnoxiously stubborn male's perspective who's never gone through heat/rut and barely understands his own budding designation. Especially when you've never written anything like this before (that's code for - go easy on me with feedback).
> 
> But they did it. They managed and Kylo helped like the goodest boy he is. 
> 
> Now let's all have a cigarette (pls don't actually smoke, I no condone) and collectively breathe a sigh of relief.
> 
> Dr. Ben Solo _finally_ boinked his mate.


	4. Chapter 4

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> _Where before he’d thought it was his favourite part of whatever they’re going through, he’d (not so) quickly learned the opposite was true as the night progressed. Not that he doesn’t enjoy fucking his mate. Quite the contrary. Watching her split on his girth and fucking them both to ecstasy is officially his new favourite activity._
> 
> _It supersedes being an asshole and snarking his staff._
> 
> _The problem is, Ben’s used to pushing his body to the limits. Both mentally and physically. Just not these extremes._

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hi! Did ya think I wouldn't let these 2 have a little more fun? This chapter contains my 2 favourite things: sex and food. So yeah...
> 
> **Merry Christmas ya filthy animals!**

He fucks her thrice more before grey morning light filters through the windows and casts a hazy aura through her house.  
  
It turns out, this ‘rut’ business is … hard.   
  
Where before he’d thought it was his favourite part of whatever they’re going through, he’d (not so) quickly learned the opposite was true as the night progressed. Not that he doesn’t enjoy fucking his mate. Quite the contrary. Watching her split on his girth and fucking them both to ecstasy is officially his new favourite activity.  
  
It supersedes being an asshole  _ and _ snarking his staff.  
  
The problem is, Ben’s used to pushing his body to the limits. Both mentally and physically. Just not  _ these _ extremes.  
  
He’s used to increasing his rep count or adding weights when the burn starts to fade. When the lingering soreness of a good workout doesn’t quite manifest and he’s starting to plateau. He’s still used to working unholy hours — a residual well of stamina that never quite dried up from his residency days. He’s used to functioning off little sleep and shitty cafeteria food with minimal nutritional value beyond basic carbs.  
  
But rut is … harder than anything he’s ever experienced before.  
  
They’d fallen asleep so peacefully. So quickly. Almost instantly. Like flipping a light switch. After their first round she’d sprawled limply over him, draped like a weighted blanket. Her content sighs turning into the even breaths of slumber in record time. Of course, he’s a gentleman so he’d managed to pull a rumpled, sex-damp sheet over her just in case she got cold. He’d snuggled her close and breathed in their mingled scent and he’d thought that was it.   
  
Was under the impression the horny would kick in at regular intervals. Like a good pain killer. Every 4-6 hours.   
  
Boy was he wrong.  
  
He should have known. He should have (as a medical professional) had some kind of inclination that this was a disease,  _ not _ medication. The average male refractory period being approximately 30 minutes and the apparent duration of this  _ knot _ being another 30, he should have  _ known _ it would come in constant waves.  
  
Should have  _ expected _ it.  
  
But he didn’t.  
  
The first time, he’d woken up mere hours later to her whimpering and seeking friction. Her scorching body shifting to grind against him where his knot must have deflated and his limp dick twitched valiantly. Slick coating their thighs to lubricate the slide. It was actually quite a pleasant waking situation and he’d hardened instantly in response.  
  
He hadn’t known (then) how daunting, how utterly  _ draining _ it would be. Still wearing his rose coloured glasses and just happy to be engaging in a ‘sex marathon’ as Kylo had so eloquently put it. After all, how could sex ever be exhausting?  
  
So he’d dutifully complied and flipped them over. Pinned her to the mattress and sunk into her in one fluid motion. Fucked her hard and fast until she came. Twice. Because he’d still been an eager beaver then. Murmuring endearments and praise with every gush she drenched him with. His bone melting orgasm ripped through him shortly after her second. Knot inflating to lock them together.   
  
He’d rolled them back to their original sleeping position, then. Sated. Happy. Thinking it was a fluke. Making up for lost time. Because they’d missed a session somewhere between leaving the hospital and getting to Anchorage thanks to the flight and medication. That their early morning activity was just their bodies playing catch up.  
  
And so he dozed thinking he’d get a minimum of 4 hours of sleep in.  
  
Boy was he wrong. Again.  
  
The second time he woke to her stroking his cock. Her small hand wrapped around his girth, using the copious amounts of slick she’d been producing to set a nice, languid slide. She’d straddled his thigh and worked herself against his quad, humping in time with her strokes.  
  
Bleary eyed and half asleep, he helped shift her body up and lowered her onto his lap. Slid home with a gasp and a groan. Let her ride him and work herself into a frenzy. Bathing his senses in the luscious sounds and scents of their coupling before sitting himself up to fuck her silly.  
  
And he did. He bucked into her with a fervor he didn’t know he possessed in the wee hours of the night. Despite the awkward angle. Despite the mattress being too soft and the lack of headboard for support. Despite being exhausted and half asleep. Hit deep while his mouth nipped and sucked on those perfect tits of hers, leaving her chest just as glazed as their slicked up laps.  
  
This time he didn’t have any words. All he had to offer were throaty sounds, husky and nonsensical. If memory serves him correct, the most coherent words he managed were ‘Omega’, ‘Rey’, and ‘fuck’.   
  
Not like it mattered. She’d been reduced to a moaning, pliant mass of horny woman. Taking every thrust like she was made to receive him. Letting him handle her like a ragdoll and encouraging his ravenous fucking with eager fingers and quiet, velvety moans.  
  
He fucked her till she came and soaked his lap. Felt her liquid fire drench him, drip down his balls and into the crack of his ass. Knotted her yet again in the process. The force of his orgasm sending him back into their rumpled nest with her snug against his chest to doze again, satisfied.  
  
It was the  _ third _ time when it really hit him. The extent to which this  _ truly _ was a marathon in every sense of the word. The sheer and utter strength and endurance it would take to get them both through this.  
  
Up until that moment it had all been hypothetical. Sure, they’ll fuck for a week. Sure, he’ll take care of her. How hard can giving someone orgasms be? Sex had always been an exercise in gluttony. Decadent and indulgent. An occasional feast to sate his sexual appetite. Oh the sweet summer child he was in those early hours of their infection.  
  
That third time, when he woke up to her whimpering plea for  _ Alpha _ , it fully hit him. The exhaustion. The lack of fuel. Body running on mere fumes. The thirst. The overpowering need to fuck despite his body’s cries for actual sustenance.  
  
It turns out rut is apparently code for “let your dick do the thinking”. Because despite his body screaming for  _ at least _ water, despite his lips being on the verge of cracking, he flipped her onto her stomach and pounded into her relentlessly. Digging into energy reserves he  _ still  _ doesn’t want to trace the origins of. Finding every spare kilojoule and sending it straight to his pistoning hips.  
  
They had no more words. They barely made sounds beyond panting and grunting. Whatever sounds they did manage to wring out of their throats were raspy and raw. The results of overused, overtired vocal chords ready to snap. The air thick with the percussive sounds of slapping skin and rhythmic, laboured breaths.  
  
Dizzy, parched, and on the brink of collapsing, he managed to wring another orgasm out of her in tandem with his own. Knotted her a third time only to discover that taking her from behind made for exceptionally comfortable post-coital snuggles and minimal knot tugging.  
  
So at least there was that.  
  
He laid there in the dark dozed again, convinced he would die of starvation or thirst by the time morning came. Praying he’d get a window of opportunity for sustenance soon.

  
  


...

  
  


When he cracks his eyes open the fourth time to see the dim morning light, she’s (luckily) still sleeping. Whimpering, but sleeping. He can tell by the steady rise and fall of her back against his chest. By her heavy limbs and lack of movement he’d already grown used to. Tucked back against him, molded to his body but not frantically seeking his cock.  
  
**_Do it.  
  
_ ** _ Fuck.  
  
_ **_Fill her now.  
  
_ ** _ *grunt*  
  
_ _ Tired. Hungry.  
  
_ **_I’ll keep you awake so we can make food after. She’s going to wake up and need you real soon.  
  
_ ** Ben is 100% certain he’s going to die if he moves right now. Much less do something as laborious as fucking. He just needs a few more minutes of peace. Just one more REM cycle.  
  
Squeezing his eyes shut and breathing deeply he tries to relax. Tries to calm his mind and grasp a few more moments of rest. Only ... he can’t. With the first deep breaths of wakefulness the scent of sex and heat and delicious Omega awaken his inner beast. Causes his brain to light up with lust and his dick to stir between his legs.  
  
With a groan he surrenders to Kylo’s instructions. Praying to whatever deity is listening that his Alpha holds true to his word and helps him get sustenance. He can afford one last burst of energy if he knows the finish line is just ahead.  
  
**_Not the finish line.  
  
_ ** **_But we’ll get food. Gotta feed mate.  
  
_ ** Right. Of course. She must be just as famished, just as dehydrated as he is. Probably more so judging by the constant flow of this slick business.  
  
Blinking against the low light, he braces himself for the inevitable. Already feels the tingle of rut start to skid across his skin, triggered by the heady scent of sex drenched sheets and ripe Omega. Feels himself harden in full. Feels the urge to fuck begin to take center stage yet again.   
  
_ Shit.  
  
_ With a quiet groan, Ben snakes his hand between her legs, finding her pleasantly ready for him. A slippery mess of their combined spend and fresh slick coating her thighs, guiding him to her warm center. He shifts her leg ever so slightly to open her up, to begin stroking her engorged bundle.   
  
It’s only fair, after all. She’d woken him up so sweetly working his cock, returning the favour is the gentlemanly thing to do.  
  
So he presses two fingers against her clit and grinds himself against her ass lazily. Uses the push of his hips to add varied pressure to where he’s languidly gliding his fingers. Starts nuzzling the column of her neck until he finds her scent gland. Nipping and swiping his tongue against it because it’s fucking delicious and it feels  _ so _ good and...  
  
Her hips shift. Tiny, microscopic pulses and undulations seeking more pressure from the pads of his fingers. Grows more dire as she slowly drifts into consciousness.   
  
The first sign of her waking is a hoarse moan. A raspy “mmmh, Alpha”.  
  
He doesn’t wait. He’s already hard … then again, he’s pretty sure he woke up like this. Ha! That should be a meme. If he remembers when this is all over, if he manages to make it out alive, maybe he’ll send her a nude of him in bed with an erection for her. Quote “I woke up like this”. Wait. No he won’t. Ben doesn’t  _ do _ dick-pics. Though for her he might make an exception.  
  
**_Fuck her.  
  
_ ** He notches the heavy weight of him between her legs. Glides between her soaked folds just enjoying the heat of her. The slick making lewd clicking sounds as he coats his length. Both their bodies buzzing with sleepy anticipation.   
  
It’s intoxicating, the scent of her arousal. The sound of it. The feel of it. Enough to burn off all other sensations. Enough to drown out his cravings for things like food and water, leaving him yearning for only one thing.  
  
He wraps his hand around his base, giving his knot a good squeeze because it feels amazing and because he can. Presses the blunt head of his cock to notch at her entrance. Flattens his palm against his underside to guide himself in like a shoehorn. Feeling her part for his intrusion. Make space for him. Accept his bodily offering.   
  
He’s 100% sure he’ll never tire of this. Never tire of the tight squeeze and clinging warmth of her. Never tire of the endless slide into and out of her body. The ball-tightening zing of the first thrust.  
  
Fully seated, he lazily glides his slick-soaked palm over her thighs. Over her ass (giving it a squeeze because, again, he  _ can _ ) and up her sides. Slinks it over her belly and up to brace his forearm against her breastbone, fingers wrapping loosely around her throat.  
  
_ Mine.  
  
_ He slides out half-way slowly, pushing in with the same laziness he’d started with. Keeping himself there, flush against her hips and impaled on his length. Feeling her walls clench around him. Pulsing with want. Keeping him warm in her wet, tight hug.  
  
“Yours,” she moans hoarsely.   
  
So sweet.  
  
So ready.  
  
How did she know what he was thinking?  
  
_ Mine.  
  
_ He starts rocking into her, thrusting … if what he’s doing can be considered thrusting. It’s lazy. Long strokes that reach deep to kiss her cervix with his cockhead. That allow him to feel every inch of her. That let her feel every inch of  _ him. _ Slow and luscious. Savouring the warmth of each other’s bodies. A decadence their frantic urges haven’t allowed for until now. Might not allow for much longer.   
  
There’s an intimacy to being buried in her. A closeness he could get used to. Something he doesn’t usually crave but feels himself grow dangerously attached to.  
  
Lips on her gland and hand cradling her throat, he presses his fingers into her pulse point just to feel her heart flutter. Just to feel how  _ real _ she is. How human and alive.  _ His _ human.   
  
_ His _ mate.  
  
He can feel it already. With every luxurious slide. Feel his orgasm building softly, for once. Stroked to life gently like a fire nurtured. Fed with every sleepy thrust. A nice change of pace from the gasoline fueled flames of full-blown rut.  
  
“Alpha,  _ please.” _ She bucks back roughly and clenches around him. The act pushes him right up against her cervix. Marks both the end of the line and his chosen destination. It’s hot and soft and pliant and makes him groan with pleasure.  
  
**_Alright, that’s enough of this slow business. Fill ‘er up.  
  
_ ** Ben would like to contest. He’d like to berate his Alpha for essentially comparing her to a car that needs a top-up. She’s precious and special and he’d do anything for her. This slip of a woman who managed to worm her way through all his defenses and stake her claim on his heart. She’s most  _ definitely _ not a gas tank.   
  
Except her plea has sent a zing of desire down his spine and his Alpha’s words only amplify her silent command. A request for more. A request to help ease her suffering with his cock.  
  
“I’ve got you, sweetheart,” strained words mumbled against the column of her neck. Against the gland that belongs to  _ him.  
  
_ _ Mine.  
  
_ Lazily, he braces himself on his forearm.  
  
_ Mine.  
  
_ Lazily, he rolls them over until she’s flat on her stomach. Presses his hands into the mattress to roll himself on top while keeping her impaled on his length. Shifts his palms flush against her shoulders to lock her in place. Grinding to test the depth of his reach. To pet her cervix because it feels mind blowingly fantastic.  
  
_ Mine.  
  
_ Not so lazily, he slams into her. Once, twice just testing the waters. Finding her responsive, like this is exactly what she’s asked for. Her moans make him twitch in anticipation. Goosebumps prickle across his back and arms, the urge to fuck and fuck  _ hard  _ drawing his skin and balls tight.  
  
“Fuck … good … come.” What he _wanted_ to say is _‘gonna fuck you so good, baby. Just how you like till you come’._ But … words.   
  
So he picks up the pace, letting his hips do the talking. Pistoning into her like he’s  _ not _ starving. Like he’s full of boundless energy and orgasms and bliss. Driven by the pants she muffles into the pillow. Wanton breaths punched out of her lungs every time he bottoms out. Feeling her shoulders push into his wrists where he’s pinned her in place for perusal. Feels her hips lift to meet his every vicious thrust. Fucking him back with abandon while her ass jiggles and her fingers twist in the sheets and crumple the pillow.  
  
It  _ does _ things to him. Unlocks something inside. Turns him feral.  
  
He curls his back to nose at the scarred gland that’s starting to heal. The dark red scabs where his teeth have punctured her skin are starting to peel, revealing a silvery white beneath.   
  
Something hot and possessive zings from his dick straight to his brain. Bathes every neutron, every cluster of grey and white matter, with the scent of  _ them.  _ Makes him growl into her ear and snap his teeth.  
  
A silent communication to be still and take what he gives her.  
  
He doesn’t have the energy nor mental capacity to unpack exactly what it means or why she’s heeded the call. Why she’s suddenly stopped grinding back but keeps her hips tilted like she’s presenting. Keeping herself open for him to fuck into.  
  
Doesn’t have the energy to mull over how he’d known to do that, even. Simply assumes they’ve traversed into the territory of silent communication.   
  
So he pounds into her hard and steady. Letting the tingle of rut dictate his pace and chasing the high of knotting. Impaling her on his length where she belongs until he’s filled her up and she’s round with pups and…  
  
**_Don’t knot her.  
  
_ ** _ Shut up.  
  
_ **_Do NOT knot.  
  
_ ** Ben ignores his Alpha. What the fuck does he even know? Being stuck together is the pinnacle of his existence. The very core of what this is about. And yeah orgasms feel great but the tight grip of her around his knot is  _ better.  _ Amplifies the climax and draws it out and dumps them into an endless chasm of bliss. The fucker’d even said as much while he tormented him in the early days of this infection.   
  
His exact words were  _ ‘knot, knot, knot’ _ … or something to that effect. So where does he get off…  
  
**_So you can eat?  
  
_ ** _ Oh…  
  
_ _ But … I thought knotting … doesn’t she need…  
  
_ **_No. Our seed soothes her heat. As long as you fill her with cum, she’ll be placated so we can worry about getting sustenance.  
  
_ ** Well, that … okay then.  
  
In theory, all he has to do is come and then he’s free to go eat.   
  
_ In theory...  
  
_ But Ben is a stubborn beast. Something his Alpha  _ hasn’t  _ accounted for.  
  
Yeah,  _ sure, _ if he concentrates extra hard and punches extra deep he’ll wring out an orgasm for her in no time (what a travesty, right?). Give her what she needs to find a few hours of peace until he gets to fuck her again. But he wants her  _ with _ him. He wants  _ her _ to come too.   
  
You see, Dr. Benjamin Solo doesn’t  _ do _ shortcuts. He’s meticulous and thorough. It’s why he’s got an impeccable track record. Why his diagnostic opinion is sought nationwide. So he’s sure as hell not going to half-ass  _ this.  
  
_ She is, after all, his most important patient.  
  
She’s his  _ mate.  
  
_ “Cum … cock … baby.”   
  
What he really means to say is  _ ‘need you to cum on my cock so I can fill you up, baby,’ _ but again, words.  
  
He lowers himself to smother her, craving the closeness and warmth of her supple skin. Drapes his body over hers, bracing on one forearm and letting the other slink against the mattress until he reaches between her legs. Letting every square inch of him cover every square inch of her. Heat seeking heat. Starts working her clit furiously and nipping at the scarred gland. Taunting it with gentle nibbles, broad strokes of his tongue and bruising suction. Feels her walls flutter around the aching length of him.  
  
He digs into the barren pantry of his energy reserves to find his voice, for real this time. “Come for me, Rey.”  
  
She whimpers as he molds her shape into the mattress with his body. With his cock. As he fucks into her tightness and rubs hard circles against her clit.   
  
“C-come.”  
  
A responding clench. A raspy moan muffled into the filthy pillow he wants to lick and rub against himself in equal measures. It’s there, the sharpness of the impending orgasm, like a plucked guitar string thrumming faster and faster.  
  
Fuck he’s gonna come.  
  
**_Don’t knot.  
  
_ ** _ Fuck off.  
  
_ A gush of slick coats his balls, amplifies the slapping sounds where he’s slamming into her. Hijacks his senses and renders him nothing short of unhinged.  
  
He grunts and fucks. Flicks and licks. Chasing her moans with hedonistic gusto. Grits his teeth against his own impending release.  
  
Her hand reaches down to join his. To apply additional pressure and work with him in the slippery, cramped space between her thighs. Like she understands he needs this as much as she does.   
  
Two desperate hands crammed where he’s splitting her open. Where the weight of his balls slaps their twined fingers and they stimulate her engorged clit as one and…  
  
“A-Alph-  _ Ben.”  
  
_ She climaxes with another gush and a guttural moan, ripped from the depths of her lungs and wrung from the pit of her soul. Clamping down hard, inner walls rippling and drawing him further. Slick dribbling onto their entwined fingers and soaking the already ruined sheets.  
  
He can feel his knot inflating. Feels his pelvic muscles contract in anticipation of the crescendo. Preparing to force out his own release at breakneck speed.   
  
Feels the white fuzz of impending orgasm start to filter his vision. He’s so fucking ready to lock them together and fill her up. So ready to snuggle the shit out of this perfect woman who just came undone for him yet again.  
  
**_Christ, you’re a fucking noob.  
  
_ ** Ben is so focused on his orgasm that he doesn’t feel his Alpha slip into place. Doesn’t notice the gentle movement he incites to pull out enough that when he  _ does _ come, his knot pops just  _ outside _ of her. Barely notices his Alpha retreat in his orgasmic haze.  
  
Only when he collapses on top of her, grinding himself into her in an effort to push his cum deeper, does he notice the missing tug he’d grown so fond of. Had grown to cherish and crave. Realizes just what his Alpha had done.  
  
**_Don’t even.  
  
_ ** _ How DARE you.  
  
_ **_I’m trying to keep you alive you tool!  
  
_ ** _ You!!  
  
_ If Kylo was a physical entity, he’d have clocked him. Wrapped his hand around his shitty little throat and wrung his trachea like a wet towel. How  _ dare _ he steal this from him!  
  
**_I did what I promised you psycho!  
  
_ ** _ You STOLE…  
  
_ “Mmh, thank you, Alpha,” his mate, squashed beneath him, drawls. There’s a trail of drool on the pillow, her heavy lids barely open. A satisfied smile and a healthy glow on her cheek.  
  
_ Well slap my ass and call me Susan, it worked!  
  
_ **_See? Trust.  
  
_ ** The tingle of rut’s subsided. Like it pooled in his balls and shot into her womb with his ejaculation. He feels … oddly himself. Except this time, not being knotted means he's not falling asleep.  
  
Ha!  
  
Alright then.  
  
_ Food!!  
  
_ **_Yes, let’s fucking EAT!!_ **

  
  


…

  
  


_ Is she?  
  
_ **_She’s fine. Grab that oat milk.  
  
_ ** This feels nice.   
  
Frigid air wrapping around him from the open fridge door. The silence in the tiny house. He’s not sure what the thermostat is set to, but he’s certain he’s still running that mild fever. So this blast of cool air feels better than an ice bath. He lets his fingers close around the open carton of oat milk. The very same one he’d perused a mere 48 hours ago. The cold paperboard tingles in his weak grip but feels surprisingly refreshing.  
  
His mind can’t help wandering in the silence. Thoughts spurned by the rhythmic thrum of the refrigerator and weak daylight pouring through the small window. What if she’s hot? Cold? What if she’s in pain? Did she just whimper?  
  
_ Are you sure? I think I just heard her…  
  
_ **_I said she’s fine. Can’t you smell it? Now swipe those plump little blueberries.  
  
_ ** _ Fine.  
  
_ _ You wanna tell me what we’re trying to make?   
  
_ **_Breakfast.  
  
_ ** _ Wow, that’s both helpful and specific. Care to expand?  
  
_ **_Don’t snark me! We’re here because I stopped you from knotting.  
  
_ ** Ben let’s loose an exaggerated eye roll before returning his gaze to the open fridge. A plethora of possibilities staring back all at once. Awareness of his immediate hunger hits him like a freight train, sets off a protesting grumble from his gut.  
  
It’s in the presence of so much choice he feels truly lost for the first time since he’d entered that hospital room. He’d always had his Alpha’s guidance. A goal. A path laid out before him which only required a little hand holding.   
  
Food was (at first) not an issue. Then, as their time progressed, became an intangible, unreachable goal. The need for it materializing all at once to the point that only a wave of rut could squash his hunger. So now that he’s faced with it, he doesn’t know where to start.  
  
**_Water would be a good place.  
  
_ ** Ben agrees. He grabs a glass from her drying rack and runs it under the tap until it’s cold. Fills it up and chugs it down. Feels the cool weight of the water expand in his belly and disperse through his veins.  
  
Refills it again and chugs half. Messily this time. Rivulets escaping to drip down his chin into his scruff. Smacking his chapped lips while gripping the steel tap of her sink buck naked, he stares out at the snowy landscape. Thankful. Hopeful. Reenergized by just the measly gulps of water he’s managed.  
  
**_So, breakfast?  
  
_ ** _ Yeah. Yeah. What we making?  
  
_ **_You see, Ben, while you were busy ignoring me last time we were here, I noticed she had a bunch of mason jars. I figured we could make overnight oatmeal with blueberries? Easy grab and go.  
  
_ ** _ I…  
  
_ **_Rut food. Has to be quick, nutritious and easily transported.  
  
_ ** _ So … we’re doing meal prep?  
  
_ **_Exactly.  
  
_ ** Ben grins to himself. This shit is  _ right  _ up his alley.  
  
Lucky for them, he’s gone through a bulking phase or two that saw him eat pre-portioned, pre-prepared meals for half a year at a time. The initial research and organization took him weeks. Balancing macros and eating schedules to get  _ just _ the right amount of protein for maximum gain. It was a bitch to prep every Sunday and he’d fallen off the bandwagon in recent years, but he’ll never regret the muscle mass he’d gained. Never regret the calm it gave him to exercise so much control over his diet.  
  
And somehow it makes it even more worthwhile now, knowing those bulking phases were practice for this exact moment.  
  
He pulls the blueberries and oat milk out of the fridge. Fills a bowl with water and dumps the entire container of fruit in, to soak. Swivels around to grab her Costco sized rolled oats out of the pantry, and, noticing a bag of slivered almonds and a vial of vanilla extract, grabs those too. Lines the ingredients up before quietly digging for measuring spoons.  
  
**_Doesn’t have to be THAT precise.  
  
_ ** _ Does too.  
  
_ _ Where are these mason jars anyway?  
  
_ **_Pots and pans. Lower cupboard beside the stove.  
  
_ ** Sure enough, there’s a stash of 16 oz mason jars lined up in the back. 3 rows of 8, lids and all.  
  
_ Thanks, man.  
  
_ **_You know I’m here for you bro. You gonna eat something too or…  
  
_ ** Yes. Right. Food.  
  
He needs to eat immediately but he also needs to prep.   
  
He mindlessly grabs the familiar box of multigrain Cheerios out of her pantry, pours a heap into a bowl and douses it with oat milk. Shovels a few barely soaked spoonfuls into his mouth until his cheeks bulge and returns to making their overnight oats.  
  
12 jars line her counter like an assembly line. Two for each morning for the next 6 days. He measures out his ingredients meticulously before dumping them into each perfectly portioned jar. Going through the motions between bites of cereal.  
  
Third cup of rolled oats. Spoonful of cereal.   
  
Half cup of oat milk. Spoonful of cereal.   
  
Shit, oat milk carton empty, open a new one. Spoonful of cereal.   
  
Drop of vanilla extract and healthy pinch of almond slivers. Spoonful of cereal.   
  
Bunch of blueberries, lock & shake. Spoonful of cereal.  
  
**_You should have Dameron check you for OCD.  
  
_ ** _ Fuckoff. I like order.  
  
_ **_And apparently taking forever. Have you considered maybe turning on the oven or setting up her slow cooker?  
  
_ ** _ What?  
  
_ **_Are you planning on eating ONLY oatmeal?  
  
_ ** _ She has a slow cooker?  
  
_ **_*groan*  
  
_ ** Rummaging through her kitchen he finds the aforementioned slow cooker  _ and _ a rice cooker stashed in an overhead cupboard. Not being one to look a gift horse in the mouth, he sets them out on the counter then turns back to the fridge, eyeing it appraisingly. With a new lease on their meal prospects. A whole world of flavour unfurling before his eyes in the cramped confines of her mickey mouse fridge.  
  
**_I see what you’re doing?  
  
_ ** _ And what’s that?  
  
_ **_Oh, no. Go ahead. I like what’s going on in here. Ima just sit back and watch.  
  
_ ** With his Alpha’s approval he begins to extract items. First the veggies — two firm zucchini, a head of broccoli, the container of cherry tomatoes and a bell pepper. Then the remaining fresh fruit — grapes and raspberries. Lastly he grabs the block of asiago cheese he’d ordered her on a whim. Once there’s more empty space in the fridge, he lines up the prepped mason jars to let them stew until tomorrow.  
  
From her pantry he grabs a spanish onion, a head of garlic, a can of diced tomatoes, the baggie of fingerling potatoes, a bag of brown rice and a box of veggie broth. Then back to the freezer to pull out a bag of frozen cod fillets.  
  
**_Can you mate me instead?  
  
_ ** Ben chuckles to himself as he dumps the rice into the cooker and adds twice as much water. Plugging it in and setting the appliance aside, he fiddles with the oven, setting it to preheat. From there he starts filling random pots with cold water, dumping the various veggies in to soak while he searches for a chopping board and knife. Begins loosely dicing the rinsed bell pepper and onion first.  
  
**_I’m being serious.  
  
_ ** **_Marry me?  
  
_ ** He scrapes the chopped veggies into the slow cooker, pours in half the carton of veggie broth, tosses in the cherry tomatoes and searches for a can opener.  
  
_ I thought we were already stuck with each other?  
  
_ **_We are. But still. I want to … take this all the way. You cook like a dream! Lucky mate.  
  
_ ** Ben snorts quietly while dumping the diced tomatoes in too. Rummages through her utensils until he finds her garlic press and squeezes two cloves into the soupy concoction. Noting his grip strength has, in fact, diminished significantly from the lack of food. If he frowns at the discovery, it’s because he’s got a complex, okay?  
  
Fuck if he loses mass because of this...  
  
**_Don’t worry. You’ll put it back on and you’ll get some sweet abs out of it too.  
  
_ ** _ What are you … oh, OH … good point.  
  
_ Grinning, he gently stirs the mixture then reaches for the bag of frozen fish. Begins to divide the fillets into smaller chunks that’ll fit into the cooker easier. Spacing them evenly on top of the vegetables and adding a dash of salt and pepper for a finishing touch.  
  
_ So tell me about rut. You’ve given me the broad strokes but we’ve got time now.  
  
_ **_I suppose we DO have time judging by your ambitious meal prepping plan.  
  
_ ** **_What do you want to know?  
  
_ ** Ben plugs the slow cooker in and sets it on high. Begins to search the main floor for his phone to set a timer of 2 and a half hours.   
  
This combo was always one of his favourites for white fish. He’s not sure if his impromptu grocery order had this exact meal in mind, but he congratulates his subconscious anyway for the forethought. The tomatoes go nice with the cod. Something tart to balance the mild flavour of the fish. Wholesome and filling and great with rice. Good protein too with minimal fat.  
  
_ Everything. I want to know everything.  
  
_ He considers exactly what a good starting point would be, nude in her living room while his eyes sweep the open space. When he finds his upturned bag by her wood burning stove, he rummages through its innards in search of his phone. Setting the timer and placing it face down on the breakfast bar.   
  
_ Start with rut. I know Ezra mentioned they last about a week and knots last about half an hour. I’m willing to accept those premises without question, one of which I now have first hand experience with. The other, we’re in the middle of, so I have no choice but to accept.   
  
_ _ But … what does it all mean, Basil?  
  
_ **_My name isn’t … ooh I see what you did there. Austin Powers reference.  
  
_ ** **_God you’re weird.  
  
_ ** Ben’s wrapping two baking sheets in aluminum foil, giving no one in particular a cocked brow and a smug smirk. He pulls the head of broccoli, zucchini and potatoes out of the sink, setting them next to the chopping board (again, an assembly line or produce) and begins chopping.  
  
_ Well, are you gonna start talking? Or do you want to talk about Austin Powers. Because I have a plethora of quotes I can assault you with right now. You know I’m a master debater.  
  
_ **_Oy.  
  
_ ** **_Fine.  
  
_ ** **_Is that? Oh that’ll be nice. Baked veggies are nice and easy and nutritious. Go well with the fish and the rice. Make sure they’re nice and bite sized.  
  
_ ** _ I said talk…  
  
_ **_Sorry. But seriously I think I love you.  
  
_ ** Ben rolls his eyes, again. Tosses the zucchini rounds and broccoli florets into a bowl then drizzles them with olive oil. Swirling them gently in the metal confines of the bowl until they’re nice and evenly coated.  
  
_ Rut…  
  
_ **_Right. Sorry.  
  
_ ** **_An Alpha’s rut is meant to compliment his Omega mate’s heat but the two aren’t necessarily exclusive.  
  
_ ** **_BUT they are better together. Especially with a mate.  
  
_ ** **_Which we have.  
  
_ ** **_Mmmhm mate. Purrfect mate.  
  
_ ** _ Focus.  
  
_ **_Sorry. Sorry.  
  
_ ** **_Uh, they happen twice a year and symptomatology includes — I’m using your terminology see? I’m a good Alpha — increased body heat, aggression especially towards other Alphas, an overwhelming urge to breed…  
  
_ ** _ I don’t mean to interrupt but … tell me something I don’t know?   
  
_ **_You knew they happened twice a year?  
  
_ ** _ Well, yeah. Rey said as much after her surgery. Remember her describing wolf heats? If this has a lupine base then yeah … I’d assumed the same would hold true.  
  
_ He dumps the veggies onto the baking sheet and gives it a good shake to space them out. Sprinkles a pinch of salt and pepper on them too, then lays it aside to begin halving the fingerling potatoes.  
  
**_You’re very perceptive, you know that?  
  
_ ** _ I’ve been told.  
  
_ **_Take a compliment every once in a while, jeeze!  
  
_ ** **_Anyway. Rut things you don’t know. Hmmm…  
  
_ ** **_Is everything you’re making bland? You should put some rosemary on those. Mmmmm. Your memory says that’s a nice seasoning for potatoes.  
  
_ ** _ There’s a fresh bottle of sriracha in the fridge. I’d rather dress as we see fit than over-season now. And … great call on the rosemary, actually.   
  
_ Ben elbows open the pantry to find the little glass jar of dried rosemary sprigs and plops it on the counter next to the chopping board. All things considered (including the abysmal size of her ‘kitchen’) he’s enjoying this meal prep/conversation time with Kylo. Finds that he’s got more than enough counter space and tools to make a decent week’s worth of meals for them.  
  
**_The point of rut and heat is to conceive.  
  
_ ** _ Beg pardon?  
  
_ **_You heard me. What do you think all that pup talk is about?  
  
_ ** _ I don’t know … I thought it was just … dirty talk? People say all kinds of weird things in the heat of the moment.  
  
_ **_Like filling someone up with a turkey baster?  
  
_ ** _ Listen here you little shit...  
  
_ **_Continuing!  
  
_ ** **_An Omega’s body gets ready to receive an Alpha’s seed. That’s the purpose of the abundant slick and why the most effective treatment is intercourse. Or, more specifically, the introduction of seminal fluids.  
  
_ ** _ You know that’s medically impossible, right? How can seminal fluids induce such immediate symptom reduction?  
  
_ **_Aah, you say that but is it so unlikely, really?  
  
_ ** The potatoes get tossed into the oily bowl. Drizzled with olive oil and gently rolled until they too are perfectly coated. Strewn onto the second lined baking sheet before receiving their own pinch of salt and a healthy sprinkling of rosemary.  
  
_ Yes, actually. But you seem to know the contrary. So, enlighten me then.  
  
_ **_Well, when your mouth is dry you produce saliva. Immediate relief. See?  
  
_ ** _ Not the same my dude.  
  
_ **_Yes it is!  
  
_ ** **_It’s an immediate pain. You call it *dips into memory* … acute. Not chronic. Similar to menstruation. It’s predictable, so I suppose in that sense it can be, quote unquote, chronic … but no more than other natural bodily rhythms. It’s got a quick onset and clears up in a few days. So you see? It’s acute.  
  
_ ** _ Look at you digging through that lexicon!  
  
_ **_*bashfully* thanks bro.  
  
_ ** _ Haven’t explained the concept of seminal fluid as pain medication though...  
  
_ **_Well, acute pain can be managed with the appropriate medication. Right?  
  
_ ** _ Yep.  
  
_ **_In this case, it’s Alpha seed. No different than cough syrup. Except it’s not a throat. And … umm … there’s no dextromethorphan.  
  
_ ** _ Huh. I’m not saying I fully accept your explanation though. It’s a little … far fetched.  
  
_ **_*sigh* I know. I’m just telling you the facts. What you do with them is up to you. This is just the nature of Alphas and Omegas. And do let me remind you that far fetched is kind of your MO at work.  
  
_ ** Ben shoves the baking sheets into the oven then checks his phone, adding 2 more timers. One for 15 minutes, another for 25.  
  
He shuffles back to the sink, draining the bowls of grapes and raspberries, setting them aside on paper towel to dry. Then proceeds to wash the dishes. Chopping board, breakfast bowl, utensils and all. When he’s done and satisfied the counter is clean again, he starts rummaging through her cupboards for tupperware.  
  
Yeah. Kylo’s right. Ben tends to work outside the box. But that’s mostly because the cases he receives haven’t been cured using ‘in-the-box’ thinking. So maybe...  
  
**_Anyway. Impregnation is key to rut. That’s also where the aggression comes in. We MUST protect our mate and chances of successful reproduction. By force if necessary. Hence the week long marathon, need to hole up and need for a stocked fridge as Mr. Bridger said.  
  
_ ** _ So what happens after?  
  
_ **_We have pups, of course.  
  
_ ** _ You’re telling me this bypasses standard human incubation? Some kind of sped up pregnancy?  
  
_ Tupperware lined up, he carefully wipes down the chopping board and begins cubing the asiago roughly.  
  
**_*sputters* God no! You just … you make pups then you protect pregnant mate and then you HAVE pups and then you’ve achieved nirvana.  
  
_ ** _ So you protect your mate for the duration of the pregnancy?  
  
_ **_You’re really dense, you know that?  
  
_ ** _ To be fair, you’re being unclear.  
  
_ Ben rolls his eyes, again. What he’d really like to ask his Alpha is if this is a week long stint and then it’s over. How long the scent of their shared bite lasts or if once it’s healed that’s it. If their little bubble has an expiration date after which she’ll be free to pursue more suitable men.   
  
Deep down inside he’s still very much unsure just what he did to deserve her. Is still partly convinced this is all a fever dream and when they wake up she’ll laugh in his face and leave him for someone who’s not an uptight asshole. Someone who’s not emotionally constipated. Someone who’s not … him.  
  
It’s a thought that makes his hackles rise. Makes him grip the knife a little tighter and slice the cheese a little more forcefully.  
  
**_Actually, the bite is a fluid share. It injects your essence so that other Alphas won’t be tempted by our Omega. The combined scent serves to placate aggression on you both as well as acting as a deterrent. More permanent than scent marking.  
  
_ ** _ Scent marking?  
  
_ **_What do you think all that licking of her scent gland does?  
  
_ ** _ Alright, fair point.  
  
_ **_Have you noticed how … now that she smells like you … you’re not as on edge? Not as aggressive?  
  
_ ** **_Well, Omega is the same.  
  
_ ** _ You’re saying she can be aggressive too?  
  
_ **_That surprises you?  
  
_ ** _ Actually … no.  
  
_ **_She’s just as territorial over you as you are of her.  
  
_ ** _ But then … why bite? What’s the point if you can just lick the gland? Isn’t it a little aggressive as a marking mechanism? A little, extreme? I mean … dogs pee on shit and that’s enough of a mark.  
  
_ **_Oh no. It’s not that superficial. This is a permanent combination of DNA.  
  
_ ** _ I’m sorry … what?  
  
_ Ben stops. Completely. Frozen on her tiny kitchen mat in the buff holding a bunch of grapes and an empty tupperware container. About as slack-jawed as can be because … did he hear that right?   
  
_ This is permanent?  
  
_ Can a man balk internally while keeping absolutely still externally? Because if not, he’s just discovered a new superhuman ability. On par with (but not nearly as amazing as) knotting.  
  
**_Oh yes. Very much so.  
  
_ ** _ You’re serious. This is … permanent?  
  
_ **_What did you think the term ‘mating bond’ meant?  
  
_ ** _ I don’t … you never…  
  
_ **_Ben, she’s your mate.  
  
_ ** **_What part of that is so hard to understand?  
  
_ ** _ Oh … I don’t know…  
  
_ The grapes get tossed into the container a little more forcefully than they should. As is the slamming and clicking of the lid.  
  
_ Maybe the fact that it’s … PERMANENT?  
  
_ **_Listen. You find a pair of sneakers you like and you buy them—  
  
_ ** _ She is NOT a pair of shoes.  
  
_ **_—that’s permanent. All the movies you’ve watched usually have a love interest. Right? And in some they get married?  
  
_ ** _ What the fuck does that have to do with anything?  
  
_ **_My point is, Ben, marriage is permanent too. This is the same, but better.  
  
_ ** _ How?  
  
_ **_Why are you acting like this is a bad thing? You don’t want to be with our mate forever?  
  
_ ** He stares at the containers. Now filled and ready to be capped. A big one with grapes, a medium sized one with raspberries, two small ones with asiago.  
  
Truth is, no. It’s not a bad thing. He hadn’t considered anything as extreme as marriage but yes, he had thought about long term. And yes, he could see himself with her for the long haul. But there’s so much about each other they don’t know.   
  
Sure, they get along. Sure, they share a shockingly similar level of snark and sarcasm. But would  _ she _ want him forever? Does  _ she _ know the lasting implications of the bite? If she had known, would she  _ still  _ have chosen this? Is he  _ enough?  
  
_ And just as much as the prospect of permanence brings his world to a grinding halt, so does the idea of anyone else touching her.   
  
Because the truth is, whatever exists between them, he can’t imagine letting her go. Can’t imagine their little bubble having an expiration date. Yeah, the idea of  _ her _ knowing every unsavoury detail about him is terrifying, but significantly less so than the idea of her being with anyone else.   
  
The thing is, he’s long since accepted that nobody would be able to put up with his obsessive need to organize things  _ just so. _ His penchant for routine and order. His matter-of-fact conversation style and his ‘quirky’ taste in entertainment. His insecurities, long buried but very much still alive if only you know how to decode his abrasive behaviour to understand the root.   
  
If the handful of dates never put up with him, never put in the effort, no one ever would. Despite having a successful career, having a well tuned body and being more than capable of being a sole provider … no one’d ever chosen him. Not those women, not his mother who consistently chose her career, not his father who preferred searching for ‘valuable’ relics. Maybe Bubbee but she’s halfway across the country.  
  
So he’d simply come to terms with that.  
  
Now? The prospect of permanence is terrifying on a whole new level.   
  
What if he accidentally slips and one of his less-than-savoury habits drives her away? What if she doesn’t want him? What if the idea of being stuck with him repulses her?  
  
**_Dude, chill with the self-deprecating thoughts. She bit you in return.  
  
_ ** _ So?  
  
_ **_It means she chose you, too.  
  
_ ** **_There’s no need to hide anything with your mate. Unlike regular marriage this is so much deeper. You can feel each other’s emotions. Isn’t that beautiful?  
  
_ ** _ It’s terrifying! What if she...  
  
_ **_No. It’s nature.  
  
_ ** **_You see, Ben, at a basic level, when you strip away careers and socio-economic backgrounds and money … we all just want to belong. That’s what the bite does. It erases all the bullshit and makes us whole on the most basic, biological level. It binds you to your one. The one person who was utterly made for you.  
  
_ ** **_Your perfect match.  
  
_ ** _ Like a soulmate?  
  
_ **_That’s … yeah? Something like that.  
  
_ ** The first timer goes off. Makes him scramble to silence it before it wakes her up. He pulls the baking sheet of perfectly roasted vegetables out of the oven and leaves them to cool on her stove.  
  
**_Listen, I don’t mean to cut this short but … there’s a cooler in the garage. Go get it.  
  
_ ** _ What? Why?  
  
_ **_I’ll explain after you grabbed it.  
  
_ ** Padding through her house silently, he opens the door just off her foyer to the freezing garage. Sure enough, there’s a medium sized cooler on wheels on a shelf just to the left.  
  
**_I’d pack water and the snacks. Don’t know about the cooked food.  
  
_ ** _ Yeah, that’ll take time to cool.   
  
_ Guessing his Alpha’s train of thought, Ben starts stacking the fruit and cheese into the cooler. Finds two aluminum water bottles and fills them up, placing those inside the cooler too.  
  
The second timer goes off just as he arranges the bottles setting off another scramble for silence.   
  
Another heart pounding moment where he just listens to see if the noise interrupted her slumber.  
  
Another baking sheet with potatoes finds itself cooling on her stove.   
  
**_You have some pretty stellar timing. You know that?  
  
_ ** And right on cue, the rice cooker dings. Grinning to himself, Ben removes the lid to let the rice cool as well.  
  
_ Not my first rodeo.  
  
_ **_*snort* I know. I live in your head, remember?  
  
_ ** _ So … kinda like soulmates, huh?  
  
_ He can’t help the grin threatening to split his face open. Something warm and comforting tingles in his veins.   
  
Despite the tightness in his skin and the smallness of this house. Despite the distance from home and the foreign weather. Despite all the improbable, impossible, life-changing experiences he’s had of late, this feels right.  
  
Perfect.  
  
He feels … whole.  
  
**_That’s the beauty of having a mate.  
  
_ ** _ It does feel nice. I … d-do you? What is that?  
  
_ The scent of vanilla skitters across his nose, sends a shock straight to his balls. His hair stands on end and his ears prick instinctively. But beyond the scent, it’s a  _ feeling. _ He can  _ feel _ her stirring. Can  _ feel _ her need calling to him as clearly as if she’d spoken it.  
  
**_Yeah. She’s about to wake up.  
  
_ ** A tiny whimper fills his ears. As if on cue yet barely a whisper. Crystal clear in the silent space.  
  
With newfound resolve, Ben tosses a jar of almond butter and a spoon into the cooler. Grabs the bag of chocolate covered almonds and swipes the box of cheerios.   
  
**_Go get her buddy. We’ll talk more later.  
  
_ ** It’s time to take care of his mate.  
  
Now that he’s got food and the path before him is laid out, rut is officially the best thing he’s going to experience in his life. They'll have a lot to discuss. A lot to discover. About this condition and each other. But she _chose_ him and he's damn well going to make sure he deserves her. In every way.   
  
And right now, it's by feeding then knotting her.  
  
**_*sniffles* absolutely beautiful.  
  
_ ** **_I’m so fucking happy.  
  
_ ** **_Let’s go feed mate._ **

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Bigups to [@justsunshinerey](https://twitter.com/justsunshinerey) for pushing me through this even when I thought it was incoherent (which I still think it is).
> 
> You'll be happy to know that in the next chapter we're going to get a bit more from Rey's side (though we're sticking to Ben's POV). I want this to remain realistic and my number one stop is the sheer exertion rut/heat requires. Yeah, sex is sunshine and roses while you're doing it. But a marathon? With no sustenance? That shit's gotta be tough on even the strongest person. 
> 
> I guess what I'm trying to say is ... we're going to be exploring some of the nuances of Alphas & Omegas, of heat/rut through the lens of first timers. So have some learning with your porn.
> 
> **What's that medical term?**   
>  [Dextromethorphan (aka the active ingredient in cough syrup)](https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Dextromethorphan)


	5. Chapter 5

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> _It dawns on him just then, exactly where his Alpha is taking him._
> 
> _A thread of mortification flickers through his mind but does nothing to break his Alpha’s hold or shift their trajectory._
> 
> _Fuck!_
> 
> _**You mean ‘fuck YES’!** _
> 
> _Let it be said, **the** Dr. Benjamin Solo does not eat pussy. Never has, never thought he would._
> 
> _The concept of putting his mouth near any orifice that expels bodily fluid (particularly those) has never held much appeal to him. Especially since it’s a shared voiding canal for not one but two types of body fluid — Urine and arousal. He's even turned off porn when it came to that act._
> 
> _Ok, fine, he fast forwarded._

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm going to apologize in advance because this chapter is a monster. It clocks in at over 10k words and I cannot, for the life of me, cut any of it without breaking the momentum so ... have a good ol' Canadian apology.
> 
> 2 new tags have joined the fray, so be aware we're traversing into come marking (because why the fuck didn't I include this initially?) and we'll probably end up with at least one more. I'm holding that one close to my chest though ... for now.
> 
>  **CW:** there's mention of his Alpha making him perform oral sex. An act he doesn't want to at first but eventually warms up to (enthusiastically) ... so possible dubcon? But not really? With it comes some outdated views on the female anatomy some might consider triggering.
> 
> **Happy New Year ✨**

He’s got about an hour and a half until he needs to check on the cod.  
  
He reasons that should be more than enough time.  
  
The plan is to get her to drink some water and have a bite to eat. Maybe a bunch of grapes. Definitely raspberries with a spoonful of almond butter for a dose of healthy fats, protein and vitamin C. Maybe a handful of dry cereal for energy via plain old carbs.  
  
He should have brought up a bowl and the oat milk so she could eat cereal like a _normal person_ (great going Ben). But then, the bed’s already a stinking mess. He’s not too keen on adding splotches of oat milk. Nor is he too sure she’d be strong enough to handle spoonfuls of cereal. Besides, he likes the way the bed smells just fine. A perfect mix of him and her and sex. Oat milk isn’t a scent he’d like to throw into that mix. Isn’t a scent he’d like to dilute the perfection stroking his olfactory system with.  
  
Maybe later.  
  
For now he’s got an hour and a half to feed her, knot her, and maybe catch _one_ REM cycle before the last of the alarms blares to life and he’s needed downstairs to figure out how to portion their meals.  
  
Her bleary eyes trail his form as he deposits the cooler beside the bed. Glassy and half lidded. Definitely a hint of arousal now that he’s learned to read her better. Barely awake and working through the visual cues his arrival presents.  
  
She watches him squat down to retrieve the tupperware of grapes (easier than spooning almond butter for starters) and a bottle of water. Eyes darting between his legs for a split second. Probably noticing he’s already hard. Not that it’s obvious.  
  
Ben’s not one to toot his own horn ... buuuut he’s a proportionate guy. With that comes the awkward semi-dangle when he’s erect. Not the porn-grade, glorious, stand-at-attention erection but rather a heavy sort of sway with a bobbing kind of bounce. It’s been the source of much entertainment and mirror exploration for him in the early days of discovering his sexuality. At first it had grated his nerves that he didn’t have what those men in the videos did, then he’d learned that weight plays a factor and … well, his ego skyrocketed.   
  
It also seems to be an area of great interest to her.  
  
_Good. I’m glad you like my cock, sweetheart.  
  
_ Maybe he grins knowingly in light of the realization. Maybe he palms himself roughly to get the angle just right for her. So what if he’s preening. He’s got a big dick and he’s proud. And she likes it. Sue him.  
  
She releases a whimper when he turns and sinks onto the edge of the bed. Hunching awkwardly over the shape of her and pushing her tousled hair away from that beautiful face.  
  
“Rey?”  
  
Another whimper. Louder, this time. A minute shift of her legs under the sheet that tells him she’s writhing, seeking friction. Telling him that she’s ready for him again.  
  
Not that he needs to _see_ anything. You could strip him of all sensations but scent and he’d still just _know_. Like an amoeba, he’s reduced to a single purpose. It’s the way the vanilla warms and the jasmine blooms. The way it becomes almost perceptibly viscous to a degree he can practically taste—   
  
**_You SHOULD taste it.  
  
_ ** — the way it spells out what she needs without a single word or strayed touch. Without a single twitch of body language. She smells _ripe_ and it takes everything in him to focus on getting her fed instead of succumbing to his baser urges.  
  
And make no mistake, the second her scent filled his nostrils downstairs the tingle of rut started nudging every single one of his nerve endings. It’s the scent of want and lust and home that beckon him to penetrate with an immediacy that far surpasses any of his previous machinations.  
  
**_Feed first.  
  
_ ** _No shit Sherlock.  
  
_ **_No need to be rude. Sheesh.  
  
_ ** “Sweetheart?” he tries again, his voice raspier than usual, probably from disuse, “do you think you can sit up? Hmm?”  
  
Her face cycles through a few choice expressions. At first there’s confusion, as indicated by her furrowed brow and the slight tilt of her head in curiosity. Then, of course, there’s curiosity itself taking center stage. Like she’s asking ‘what are you doing?’ with the cocking of a single brow. Then there’s the dawning of understanding. She knows, based on what’s in his hands that sex is most definitely _not_ why he’s asking her to sit up.   
  
The responding pout is nothing short of petulant. Correction, petulant with an undertone of mischief. Because she’s sensuously peeling the sheet back, arching her back in presentation, leaving him misfiring on all engines.   
  
_Fuck. Mate. Knot. NOW.  
  
_ **_Oh no no no. Don’t let Omega distract us from our goal.  
  
_ ** **_Feed first.  
  
_ ** He can feel his Alpha’s iron will create a barrier between him and his urges. Like a good friend holding you back in a bar fight. Feel their joint resolve to feed her crystalize.   
  
Ben growls. Like a fucking dog. How has he been reduced to this again?   
  
_Wait a minute…  
  
_ “Omega,” his deep rumble sizzles through the small space between them, “be still.”  
  
_Ha! I’m definitely getting the hang of this.  
  
_ Another pout greets him. This one far less petulant, more submissive. Accompanied by wide eyes and marionette-like movements that sees her sitting up weakly. Her upper body wavers, tremors, head swaying clumsily from side to side as her eyes become unfocused.  
  
She’s on the verge of fainting.  
  
_Fuck.  
  
_ “Here,” he moves both quickly and gently. Sliding himself behind her to lean against the hard wall with only a lumpy pillow to support his lower back, “lean back on me.”  
  
Grapes and water bottle deposited next to them, he slides his leg around to bracket her hips. Gingerly wraps his arms around her waist and pulls her back, settling between his legs and leaning her upper body against his chest. Hand stroking her unruly hair away from her damp face. Pressing her head back while laying his palm across her forehead.  
  
**_She’s in heat. It’ll obviously feel like a fever.  
  
_ ** _I know that dipshit. But she’s faint, I’m simply trying to re-center her so she doesn’t ACTUALLY faint.  
  
_ **_She’s dehydrated. Water will help.  
  
_ ** He _clearly_ knows this already so he rolls his eyes extravagantly.  
  
Ben would like to tell his Alpha to suck a lemon. Remind him that the most annoying thing on the planet is having the obvious repeated multiple times like he’s an idiot.  
  
Instead, with her head leaning heavily on his shoulder, he reaches for the water bottle. Unscrews the cap and gently touches the cool rim to her lips. Tilts the bottle as he strokes her cheek. Her shoulder. Her arm and breast. Lips pressed against her temple, murmuring encouragement and keeping her tethered to consciousness.  
  
“Drink, sweetheart,” he says, “it’ll make you feel better.”  
  
His poor mate.  
  
Can she feel his heart hammering in his chest? Can she feel the worry that sends spikes of adrenaline through his veins?   
  
Doctor he might be, but he’s still terrified she’ll faint. Disappointed with himself for letting it get this far. For allowing her body to grow this weak under his watch.  
  
_Bad Alpha.  
  
_ **_Oh don’t be so hard on yourself. It’s your first heat.  
  
_ ** To his relief, he feels her gulps against his chest. The flex of her back and neck muscles as her throat contracts to swallow. Tentative at first, like a misguided hiccup, but growing greedier with every gulp. Goosebumps breaking out over her skin and nipples stiffening under his gaze.  
  
Of course, Ben finds his worry morphing into unbearable arousal. Like the grade A creep he is.   
  
Wondering if his touch could ever elicit a reaction like that from her. If he could ever be responsible for a full body piloerection like these mouthfuls of water.   
  
Finds himself oddly jealous of good ol’ H2O.  
  
Her hands close around the bottle, around his own. A few more deep pulls and she nudges it down. Heaving like she’s run a marathon while licking her lips.   
  
He’s relieved to feel there’s more strength in her movements now. A steadying of her heart beat thumping against his chest. A body slowly finding equilibrium thanks to a little quick thinking.  
  
“Good?”  
  
“Mmhmm,” she hums wiggling closer against him, opening the column of her neck to him, “much.”  
  
“Good.” He presses a wet smack to her temple as his fingers work to screw on the cap. “Now something to eat.”  
  
A frustrated grunt and a weary huff. “Alphaaaa.”  
  
Apparently the water’s made her even more petulant? Her tone’s taken on a whine that’s normally a deal breaker for him. One eerily close to some of the airheaded dates he’d been on. The kind of lilt that only leaves the mouths of women who replace ‘umm’ with ‘like’ just a touch too much.   
  
Oddly enough, from her it’s endearing. Makes him chuckle and hold her a little tighter. Makes his chest rumble and arousal spike.  
  
“Please,” she wiggles that delectable ass back, grinding against him and hooking her legs over his own, “I want…”  
  
_I know what you want, sweetheart.  
  
_ He’s rewarded with an immaculate bird’s eye view of her body. Spread out before him. Flushed, eager, and so _incredibly_ fuckable.  
  
“Then gimmeeeee.”  
  
“Wha—” he balks.   
  
_How did she know what I was thinking?  
  
_ **_Bond. Remember?  
  
_ ** _No?  
  
_ **_Eeh … we’ll go into the nuts and bolts later. Maybe … uh … finger her while feeding? Might keep her focused.  
  
_ ** **_Just thinking out loud.  
  
_ ** Not a bad idea, actually.  
  
“You’re gonna eat,” he states clearly, a tone that brooks no argument. One he pulls from the very bottom of his chest and utilizes his entire diaphragm.  
  
The water bottle rolls off the bed with her squirming, landing on the Berber rug with a muffled thump. His own hands busy popping the lid off the box of grapes and picking a few plump morsels into his palm.   
  
“Now open wide,” he plucks her hardened nipple and pops a grape into her obedient mouth, “chew.”  
  
She does. Slowly but surely, he feels her jaw moving to masticate the offered grape.  
  
He could get used to this. The way she heeds his instructions. The way all he has to do is use a tone he’s quickly honing to tamp down any coup she might be staging.   
  
**_Be careful with that.  
  
_ ** “I’ll take care of you. I promise,” he nuzzles against her ear, hand releasing her nipple and drawing a soft trail down the planes of her stomach to stroke between her legs. Coating his fingers in her slick to paint haphazard swirls over her belly, inner thighs. Dipping occasionally to ghost over her engorged clit. To remind her _exactly_ how he’ll take care of her. “Just eat this handful of grapes and I promise I’ll give you what you need.”  
  
He can feel her nod against his shoulder. Feel acquiescence as her neck stretches further to present the delectable slope to him. Feel her thighs widen to give his paw space.  
  
So who is he to deny her when she’s eating out of the palm of his hand so prettily? So willingly? When just the sight of his large hand between her dainty thighs _does_ things to him because she’s so small and his hand can span hip bone to hip bone if he only spreads his fingers...  
  
_Fuck._ What a view.  
  
And so he manages to feed her the handful of grapes he’d plucked out of the container. Rolling her clit steadily and peppering kisses from her temple to her shoulder and back. Stopping to suckle on her weeping scent gland and grinding himself into her lower back in a silent promise. Reminding her to chew faster because the sooner she finishes, the sooner he’ll fuck her just how she needs.  
  
The feeding affair starts off innocent enough. A little stimulation and skin to skin contact to keep both their urges in check until she’s got something in her stomach. Until they can get her a little sustenance to carry her through the next leg.   
  
Maybe after he knots her again and they rest he can feed her some raspberries with almond butter. Maybe she’ll be coherent enough to hash out some questions he has about her Omega … because he has a _lot_. Still hasn’t forgotten her resigned behaviour and scowls when they broached the subject. Her very obvious dislike for her Omega manifest.  
  
Maybe she’ll be coherent enough they’ll get to know each other and maybe, just maybe, he can make them a nice fruit smoothie for lunch to replenish their depleted nutrient stock. God only knows cereal carbs and a handful of grapes won’t get anyone through a week long sex marathon.  
  
He knows that now.  
  
But, as has been the case since he’d first met her, the feeding affair quickly grows heated. With every grape she swallows, the pressure of his fingers increases. The circles he draws against her swollen bud grow tighter, speed up at the rate of his growing arousal. The urge to claim and mark and penetrate starting to break down the clumsy walls he and his Alpha have temporarily constructed.   
  
The kisses he peppers her neck with linger, include more teeth and tongue. Less savour, more devour. Lust overpowering him in constant waves he’s almost certain must assail her too. At least that’s what he gathers based on her breathy moans.  
  
He could be wrong.  
  
**_What did I say about self-deprecating thoughts?  
  
_ ** Pffft, like he has _any_ thoughts left. He’s on the verge of losing his damn mind when the last grape tips past her lips. Her warm tongue sucking it back alongside his finger.  
  
It drives him wild. Makes him throb and twitch against her back. If he latches on a little more forcefully, if he sucks her gland a little more hungrily, nips with the goal of marking … well, it’s her fault for being so _fucking_ sexy.  
  
He lets her suck on his finger while she chews. Draws it across her plump lips before dipping back into the heat of her mouth. Strums her clit like he’s Jimmy fucking Hendrix, groaning into her neck while he grinds himself roughly into her lower back. The tingle of rut already burning away all thoughts of nourishment and nurturing. Like the predator that’s finally cornered prey, his rut stares him down with hungry eyes.  
  
“You’re so _fucking_ hot,” he growls into her skin. Like it’s _her_ fault he’s on the verge of plummeting into rut again. Like it’s _her_ fault he’s so horny his dick might explode.  
  
Well, _technically_ it is. He’s simply responding to a stimulus (spoiler alert - she’s the stimulus).  
  
Her hips undulate with his fingers. Rotations that caress his balls and create beautiful, torturous friction he’s certain will be the end of him.   
  
“Swallow,” that voice again. A deep rumble that makes her shiver. Makes her chest stutter and her legs widen in response.  
  
**_You REALLY need to slow down on using that. It’s uncouth. And if you slip and use it in public...  
  
_ ** A frisson of pleasure skids across his skin when he feels her neck work to swallow. When her lips pull his finger to the knuckle and her tongue envelopes the lucky digit. A garbled “yes, Alpha,” around his intrusion.  
  
**_… and yet again she likes your boorish nature.  
  
_ ** **_I give up.  
  
_ ** **_Two peas in a pod.  
  
_ ** He wants to give her something else to suck on.  
  
No. He wants to bury himself in her cunt. The same one that’s slicked up his hand and fingers.  
  
No. He wants to kiss her senseless and savour, absorb, inhale the taste of her and the taste of those _fucking_ grapes that he’s uncharacteristically jealous of.  
  
**_Uh … pick one?  
  
_ ** “Ben?”  
  
“Yeah.” He’s breathless and horny and how is her voice so steady?  
  
“Knot?”  
  
He can _feel_ her smile. Can _feel_ her contentment. It’s (shockingly) better than the impending orgasm he’s skirting. Warmer. More wholesome even in light of his paper thin grasp on control.  
  
_She’s joking.  
  
_ **_Playful Omega. Mmm yum.  
  
_ ** “Don’t be a brat,” he nips her earlobe to draw an enraptured giggle. Effervescent and bright like all the sunlight that can’t penetrate this corner of the world. From an unlikely, feral little gremlin with a wit as sharp as her bite. Who’s brighter than any star. Whose very existence makes his universe spin.   
  
How is it possible to be _this_ happy? How can the sound of _one_ person’s laugh make his chest swell so dangerously? How can such a simple exchange feel more … _riveting_ than actual sex?  
  
“Then fuck me.”  
  
_Why you feral little…  
  
_ “That’s. It!”  
  
He flips her onto her back. A mass of naked skin and squeals of delight. The billowing of sweaty sheets and creaking of an exhausted mattress fills the space between her laughter. All heated, soft skin and barely there, playful resistance.  
  
He wrangles her until she’s still and hovers over her with a wolfish glint in his eye. Wrists pinned above her head and chest heaving from exertion. An occasional titter escaping just as her laughter dies and the promise of sex blankets them. Lets the weight of him rest in the crook of her thigh. Hot and tempting and mere inches from where they both want him to be.  
  
They’re both panting heavily, mingled breaths sweetened by cereal and oat milk and grapes. Eyes locked and pupils dilated. She licks her lips, the little peek of tongue drawing his attention down to where he has yet to taste.  
  
It’s an open invitation. Isn’t it?  
  
**_Dewit.  
  
_ ** Ben dips his head and brushes his lips against hers. A playful tease before he proceeds to kiss her senseless. Pressing down, he delves his tongue past her lips. Lets it stroke over hers. Lets her breathe a sigh and stroke him back. Sharing the sweet and tangy after taste of those _fucking_ grapes.   
  
He kisses her with fervour. With the intent to consume. To capture every broken giggle, every sigh. Her hands spear into his hair in turn. All while his own fingers hone into her center again. Stimulating her with strokes that mimic the tempo of his kisses.   
  
He’d _planned_ on making it sweet.   
  
Wait … had he?   
  
**_I believe you planned on, quote, fucking her just how she needs.  
  
_ ** _*shrug* semantics.  
  
_ He _wants_ to kiss her sweetly. Really. He does. Wants to kiss her the way she deserves because she’s perfect and she’s everything. He also wants to knot her yesterday. So regardless of how much those 2 wants war with each other, the latter will always win in his current state.  
  
She moans into his mouth, hips rolling into his hand which has the unintended effect of sliding his length against the warm valley he’s cradled in. It’s hot and luscious and makes him throb. Makes him want to sheathe himself immediately. Makes him groan into her mouth, a long wanton sort of groan that vibrates him straight down to his balls and makes precum leak out of his cockhead.  
  
Ben detaches from her lips with a soft nibble to her lower lips. Drops his gaze to where his fingers are busy strumming the most perfect cunt.  
  
“You’re so fucking beautiful.”  
  
She is. _She is._ She’s naked and flushed. Her nipples are the most perfect shade of rose. Tight buds beckoning his mouth. Colour is high in her cheeks and her hair’s settled into the most perfect halo on a filthy, drool splotched pillow.   
  
_Perfect, perfect, perfect.  
  
_ He doesn’t know, how after all their overnight activities, after all the time they’ve spent travelling and trying to hump each other in extremely inappropriate places, she still has the ability to steal his breath. To bring his brain to a grinding halt—   
  
**_Git.  
  
_ ** —how her stormy irises, thin as they may be stretched around her swollen pupils, still manage to draw him in. How her freckles still manage to leave him breathless and awed and mesmerized in equal parts. How just her existence, her scent and her latent warmth can frazzle every single one of his nerves.  
  
He doesn’t move. Can’t. Enamoured by the breathless woman beneath him. The very same woman who’s his mate.   
  
Permanently his.   
  
She’s perfect and she’s his. Forever.  
  
He’s going to cry.   
  
Holy shit he’s going to cry.  
  
No he’s going to cum. No he’s going to … Jesus Christ he can’t think straight.  
  
**_Fucking hell. You were better at this rut business when you were nutritionally deficient.  
  
_ ** **_*sigh* I got you bro.  
  
_ ** Frozen, he feels his Alpha slip into place. Again. Just like their first time. Well, second. But _his_ first conscious time. He’s mentally rambling, isn’t he?  
  
Feels his body lower to place a soft kiss to the corner of her mouth.  
  
Hears himself whisper, “gonna make you cum, Omega.”  
  
His mouth, not of his own volition, kisses its way down her body. Peppering her heated skin with soft kisses. Down her neck and into the hollow of her throat. Down her sternum where he leisurely licks across each nipple before his body continues its downward trajectory. Kisses his way down the expanse of her belly, following the central hollow of her abdominals to her belly button.  
  
It dawns on him just then, exactly _where_ his Alpha is taking him.   
  
A thread of mortification flickers through his mind but does _nothing_ to break his Alpha’s hold or shift their trajectory.  
  
_Fuck!  
  
_ **_You mean ‘fuck YES’!  
  
_ ** Let it be said, **the** Dr. Benjamin Solo does _not_ eat pussy. Never has, never thought he would.  
  
The concept of putting his mouth near any orifice that expels bodily fluid (particularly _those_ ) has never held much appeal to him. Especially since it’s a shared voiding canal for not one but _two_ types of body fluid — Urine and arousal. He's even turned off porn when it came to that act.   
  
Ok, fine, he fast forwarded.  
  
Not that he has anything against oral, per se. He certainly doesn’t mind having his dick sucked. No. That’s fantastic. Transcendental. Especially from _her_. But _eating_ pussy? _Cunnilingus_ (his brain so helpfully supplies at the worst possible moment) … that’s not Dr. Ben Solo’s way.   
  
There’s too much going on down there. Too many complications. Too many hills and valleys and nerve endings and … sophisticated fucking human machinery. Shit there’s a whole branch of medicine dedicated to pussy. Men’s anatomies get bulked in with the urinary tract via urology. But pussy? That gets special doctors.  
  
Granted, for her he’d probably make an exception.   
  
Maybe.   
  
Possibly.   
  
Not that he’s got much choice right now (Jesus Christ this is happening).  
  
He’d like to have had the time to put in a little leg work. Read an article or two to ensure at least _some_ level of success. Maybe _actually_ watch the oral portion of one of those sensual pornos made for women. The ones that don’t revolve around perfectly angled penetration shots and slobbery POV blow jobs.  
  
He’s a bit like his father in that regard. The type to not want to know the odds of success. With the caveat that he much prefers bettering his chances through copious amounts of research. _If_ he’d ever found the act to be of any interest, he would have studied it with the same vitriol he’d poured into his specializations. But he didn’t … so he just knows it’s not for him.  
  
At least … that’s what he _knew_. Now, he’s on the threshold of an act he’d never thought he’d be performing.  
  
And underneath it all, underneath the fear of facing the unknown, is the conviction at the very root of his hesitance. He’d always found it degrading and humiliating. Built up a belief that it was downright gross to have one’s mouth anywhere near an orifice that expels urine. An act for the type of men who liked golden showers or sucked at fucking or had little weenies.  
  
So putting himself between a woman’s legs? Pffft. That’s for lesser men. And he is _not_ a lesser man.   
  
He is a man of control and a man of principle. He is always one step ahead, stands a shoulder above the rest. He’s well endowed and he’s at least a good enough fuck for her to come twice under his ministrations. So being below is … well, not his way.  
  
Of course it comes as a complete and utter shock when his Alpha refuses to abide by the parameters he’d set himself.  
  
No. In fact, Kylo is practically drooling. Begging to nuzzle between her legs. Drawn to her center. To her scent. The intoxicating aroma of her … because _yeah_ fine, he’s never been even _close_ to tempted but he’d be lying to himself if she didn’t smell utterly delicious there and maybe his Alpha _might_ be onto something.  
  
Still doesn’t negate the fear coursing through his veins.  
  
He’s helpless as he watches his Alpha’s control tighten. As the leash grows taut, making sure he doesn’t slip away like the skittish animal he feels like right now. Horrified, he watches his Alpha guide his body down and, to his dismay, hitch her legs onto his shoulders like he’s getting ready to feast.  
  
_Oh my God stop it!  
  
_ _What are you doing?  
  
_ **_Do we have a bib? We’re about to feast.  
  
_ ** The real Ben Solo’s stomach flips. He wants to scream and yell and run away and buy himself time to prepare if his Alpha is _this_ set on performing this act. But he’s incapacitated under Kylo’s control. So he watches with abject mortification as his face gets closer and closer.  
  
He can see the swollen lips of her sex from their previous couplings. See the copious lubrication dripping from between her folds, glossing her cunt like a gelatinous cake glaze. The thin crust of it on her inner thighs where it’s started to dry at the edges. The mix of his and hers and Christ that’s a cesspool of sexual fluids even if it smells utterly divine. He can see her clench, can see her kegels contract and her clit pulse, and _oh God his mouth is opening ewww eww ewww…  
  
_ His tongue draws a broad stripe from her opening to her bud. A full contact lick that coats the entire width of it. Every single one of his taste buds bathed in the savoury sweet decadence of _her_ .  
  
_Oh?  
  
_ _Oh okay, wow.  
  
_ She’s fucking delicious. Like her essence only exponentially more concentrated. It’s more abundant here and a little thicker than the delectable trickle from her gland. Like warmed vanilla honey coating his tongue. Every single one of his approximately 10,000 gustatory cells exploding with the flavour of _her_ .  
  
He’s not even sure if it’s his Alpha or himself that groans in pleasure.   
  
It feels like a light switch has gone off. A change in perspective so severe he might have whiplash. It tastes incredible and if that weren’t enough, the way she’s writhing and moaning from just that single contact adds a whole new layer of complexity to the experience.  
  
A few experimental licks (of his _own_ volition) and he’s sold. Hook line and sinker.  
  
This is _not_ for lesser men, he decides as he begins mouthing at her in earnest, lapping messily, using his whole face. Gauging his performance by the intensity of her twitches and the volume of her moans. This is the best kind of control he’s ever had.   
  
His Alpha’s iron grip recedes. If he had more brain cells available, he’d have noticed Kylo dusting his shoulders and cackling maniacally.   
  
**_Mission accomplished.  
  
_ ** **_Bon appétit, monsieur.  
  
_ ** “ _Aah-_ Alpha,” her mewl sends a shock straight to his groin, fingers threading through his hair to pull him closer. Not that he minds now. He’s more than willing to let her lead him by the leash. Lets her pull his face into her cunt and grinds himself into the mattress.  
  
He responds by moaning against her. Makes up for his lack of practice with unabashed eagerness. Sucking her clit between his lips and rolling the engorged bud he’s isolated to test a budding theory.   
  
Lucky for him, he understands female anatomy _just_ enough to not completely bungle this despite his inexperience. Knows there’s a cluster of nerve endings that eventually re-arrange in utero to become a penis and that _that_ little cluster is the key to making her writhe.   
  
Her legs twitch with each roll between his lips. Warm gushes of slick, coinciding with each quiver of her thighs, coat his chin. This close, in this proximity, the scent of it is absolutely dizzying. All he can think is _more_ and _delicious_ and _omnomnom.  
  
_ _Wasteful.  
  
_ **_You should…  
  
_ ** Ben doesn’t need to be told twice. Releases her with a wet pop and begins tonguing her entrance. Lapping up the ambrosial nectar. Swallowing as much of it back as he can without breaking his rhythm. Because that would be a travesty.  
  
_Absolutely exquisite._   
  
Why did he need food again? He can live off this. This is most _definitely_ sustenance. Categorically, it’s at the very least hydrating and the human body can make due without food for up to 2 months as long as there’s a reliable source of water. Which he’s just found.   
  
Slick is water. It’s the very essence of life. He’s absolutely certain of that.   
  
He’ll fucking die on that hill.  
  
“Tell me what you like, sweetheart,” he rasps against her lips.  
  
He _really_ wants to know. Wholeheartedly invested in learning this new art now. Determined to master it before the week is out so he can do this to her _all the time._ A budding obsession taking root, of living between her legs.   
  
There is now a 100% chance that he’ll be researching cunnilingus the very next free moment he gets alone with his phone. Preferably with her snuggled into his side. Naked and sated because she’d come on his tongue.   
  
Because that’s his main goal now.  
  
To make her fall apart on his tongue.  
  
_Fuck_ she tastes good.  
  
**_I’ve created a monster.  
  
_ ** _YOU are a monster.  
  
_ **_*cackles* yes I am.  
  
_ ** There’s a knowing chuckle rattling inside his skull. An echo of his Alpha’s amusement. One that’s quickly brushed aside as another explosion of flavour coats his tongue.  
  
She guides him with her hands. With her breathy moans and the frantic roll of her hips. With her broken _yes_ -es and choked gasps because words have left her. And Ben? Well, Ben is now testing theories.  
  
Flick of a pointed tongue? Her grip in his hair tightens. Fingers twisting against his scalp and the most sensual moans. Translation: good. Very good.  
  
Broad stroke across her opening? Her legs relax and she breathes a sigh. Refraction from the intensity. Translation: also good, but not orgasm building.  
  
_Note to self — also the best way to collect her exquisite slick.  
  
_ Tongue penetration? Surprised gasps and luscious hip grinds and the unintended effect of pressing his schnoz against her clit. Translation: nnnghh want that to be my cock.  
  
Clitoral suction? Back arch, hair tearing and guttural moans. Translation: that. Keep doing _that.  
  
_ So he sets out to flick with his tongue and apply clitoral suction in even measure, breaching her occasionally to lap up what she makes for him. Despite the frenzy skittering across his skin. Despite the urge to press his whole face into her cunt and coat every pore in her arousal he clings to methodology.   
  
He focuses on making it good. Varying pressure and stimulation technique. Only flattening his tongue occasionally to drink her up when he’s starting to feel parched. Cupping it to collect a fresh gush when he feels it coming. Gauging how close she is by the lift of her hips and the sizzle down his own spine.   
  
Because that’s what Kylo had said, right? Something about bond sensing … or something like that??  
  
He lets his hands wander up her obliques. Gym roughened palms brushing against her supple skin until they find the delicate sides of her breasts. Kneads them posessively and begins pinching and rolling the taut little buds for an added layer of pleasure.  
  
That little stroke of genius seems to do the trick. Because his own vision starts to blur. A white fuzz manifesting at the edges like he’s going to cum. Then again, maybe it’s because he’s stopped breathing. Using his mouth and nose in equal measures to pleasure her leaves little room for things like air.   
  
His grip on her tits becomes rougher. Fingers splayed wide to hold her ribs while his thumb and forefinger continue to twist and pinch her nipples. Uses that leverage to pull her into his mouth where he’s unleashing an assault of flicks that don’t let up.   
  
Directly over the top, on either side. The three pillars of his first oral experience are the pressured swipes of his tongue. He won’t stop. Even if his tongue aches and seizes up from overuse. If it gets to that he’ll just use his nose and lips because stopping is _not_ an option.  
  
Single-mindedly pursuing her imminent release.   
  
Because it’s there.  
  
He can feel it. Crackling in the air like the certainty of lightning during a thunderstorm.  
  
**_Suck.  
  
_ ** On his next upward swipe he closes his lips around her engorged bud. It’s slippery and hard to grasp, but he perseveres. Pulls it back, holding the little pearl firmly in place between his lips, suctioning in waves.  
  
When he adds soft swipes of his tongue across the smooth surface, when her legs begin to seize around his head and her hips lift off the mattress, he lets himself go. Stops obsessing over rhythm and technique and just fucking devours. Lets himself get lost in the taste of his mate who’s just about to…  
  
The sweetest sounds fill his ears. Animalistic and raw as they may be, she might as well be singing opera because it’s a fucking _symphony._ A symphony accompanied by a gush that drenches his chin, drips down his neck and onto the ruined sheets in a soft patter.   
  
Her body shakes and her thighs clench against his ears and she’s choking back sobs. Grinding against his face to ride out her orgasm which he lets her do happily.  
  
He frees her clit, placing a soft kiss to it before shifting down to lap at her pussy. To collect as much of her release as possible. Running his slick glazed tongue over his teeth and palate. Coating the insides of his cheeks and letting it ooze down his throat until his body reflexively swallows.   
  
_Incredible.  
  
_ _Fucking perfect.  
  
_ He needs to kiss her.  
  
Right fucking now.  
  
She’s just given him the best gift he could ever ask for and he needs to thank her because _nothing_ will ever be as perfect as this. Nothing. And she needs to know. Unequivocally and without a doubt that she’s just given him _everything.  
  
_ **_Oooh I don't know … I think pups might trump … you know what? No.  
  
_ ** **_Good for you buddy. I’m so happy you’ve found a new hobby.  
  
_ ** He kisses her inner thighs while his hands stroke down her sides. Peels her heavy legs off his shoulders carefully and nibbles his way up her body. Covering her in a snail trail of slick dripping from his chin until he’s there, hovering over the woman who’s just helped him enter a new plane of existence.  
  
Her face is red. Eyes half-lidded and drowsy. Lips parted in the most welcoming of ways.  
  
“Hi.” Maybe he smirks. Maybe he’s beaming. Who knows. He’s just _so fucking happy.  
  
_ “You,” she manages between pants, a lazy smile blooming on her flushed face, “are…”  
  
“Amazing?” Now he’s definitely smirking.  
  
She chuckles, hands snaking around his neck to pull him closer. “I was gonna say a god but…” she steals a peck, a soft press of her lips to his, “now you’re just an ass.”  
  
He huffs a laugh, gently brushing stray hairs out of her face.   
  
_You love me,_ he wants to say. But it’s too soon for heavy words, even if they’re said in jest. Too soon to invoke these types of emotions even if he feels them, crystal clear. So he tells her how he feels with his lips. The urgency having worn off, leaving him with only the chest-bursting glow burning inside his ribcage.   
  
He kisses her slow and tender. Softly like they’ve got all the time in the world. Because they do, now. He feels no compulsion to escalate and she kisses him back like time and infection have become irrelevant. Her fingers stroking down his back softly, leisurely.  
  
He’s so consumed by the kiss, so consumed in feeling her contentment and satisfaction, in _thanking_ her wordlessly, that he hardly notices the clicking sounds below. Hardly notices when her fingers have wrapped around his girth and started stroking. Coating him in her cum and working her fingers up his abdominals to paint circles of slick around his nipples.  
  
Only gains awareness when her hands reach up to swipe her spend over his scent glands and over the dental imprint she’s graced him with.  
  
_What?  
  
_ **_Awwwwwe *heart eyes*  
  
_ ** Her hands begin massaging the coated areas. Working her slick into his skin. The sensation morphing from a slippery glide to tacky within a few passes. The scents swirling around them make his dick twitch with need.  
  
A need he ignores resolutely because he’s kissing her and that’s all he needs right now.  
  
**_She’s scent marking us.  
  
_ ** **_Love mate.  
  
_ ** **_Love love love.  
  
_ ** _What does that even…  
  
_ **_It means she wants us to smell like her. She’s marking us as hers.  
  
_ ** **_Isn’t it beautiful?  
  
_ ** He kisses her gently. Cradles her jaw and strokes his thumb over the apples of her cheeks. Pecks her a few times for good measure before pulling away just enough to meet her soft eyes.  
  
“Rey? W-what are you doing?” He needs confirmation, okay? Because the idea that she wants to claim him to this degree makes his heart stutter in his chest. Makes his tear glands prickle. Makes his throat tighten because he’s going to _fucking_ cry. Why is he going to cry? What is _wrong_ with him?  
  
“I…” her eyes dart to her hands, the very same ones working slick into his scarred gland, “I don’t know. My … uh … I don’t really understand but … she says … it feels right?”  
  
_I fucking love you.  
  
_ Maybe he sniffles. Maybe he _is_ truly teary eyed. His head drops into the crook of her neck because he can’t face the ebb of emotions. The strong urge to unleash and give voice to the words he feels so viscerally.  
  
A ghost of a kiss warms his scent gland. A hand wraps tighter around his shoulder. A whisper of _I know_ brushes his conscience.  
  
He’s going to cry. He’s already tearing up like an emotional teenager because he fucking loves her so much already and how is this even possible…  
  
Her hand wraps around his length. Hot fingers against equally hot skin. Pumps a few times, thumb brushing over his sensitive head and drawing a moan from his quivering lips. Redirecting his attention to his very own protruding problem. Another brush against his conscience. This one whispering _‘cum on me’_.  
  
_Is that you?  
  
_ **_No man, that’s the bond.  
  
_ ** **_*sniffles* she … God mate is so wise.  
  
_ ** _That’s … that’s her? She wants me to…  
  
_ **_Yes. She wants you to return the favour.  
  
_ ** “Rey,” he groans into her neck, “tell me this is what you want.”  
  
Is it possible for his insecurities to drive his mate away in the middle of a heat? Because that’s what’s happening right now. With the realization of just how _much_ he loves her comes the crumbling of every wall he’s ever built. An unleashing of every insecurity he’s ever thrown a blanket over or stuffed into his closet of skeletons. _Everything_ about him is on display. He can’t hide and this’ll _surely_ drive her away.   
  
He should’ve asked Kylo downstairs but he’s about to find out first hand.  
  
Her grip around him tightens. Her strokes less tentative, more resolute. “I do,” her free hand runs through his hair and settles at the nape of his neck, “Ben? Look at me.”  
  
With a soft kiss to her scent gland he lifts his face. Hoping on hope he doesn’t _look_ like he’s on the verge of tears. If she can feel him, if she has any inclination of just how affected he is, he’ll at least put on a brave face so she doesn’t see he’s a total fucking pansy.  
  
When their eyes meet, the constant chant of ‘don’t deserve her’ that’s started drumming in the back of his head goes silent. Because there it is, without a doubt, a return of affection. It’s right there in her eyes and written on her face and as plain as spoken word.  
  
It’s in the gentle, private smile she gives him. In her soft eyes and that slow blink and in the way her fingers gently twirl the ends of his hair. She _does_ want him. And maybe she even understands the permanency of this.  
  
Then her mouth opens. A seductive whisper. A squeeze around his shaft. “I want you to cum on me.”  
  
Maybe he whimpers. Maybe he hears _I love you too._ Maybe his mind is making shit up because he’s pretty sure his neurons are a malfunctioning communications panel in some sci-fi space-y movie that’s being destroyed by some hyper-plasma laser sword wielded by an angry caped overlord and the only words he can remotely squeeze out are...  
  
“ _Fuuuuck.”  
  
_ Her face brightens. Glows from within and without and all of her teeth are on display. “Yeah? You gonna cum on me?”  
  
“Yeah,” he nods. Agreeing frantically, hips canting into her strokes, “yeah. Gon-gonna make a mess of you.”  
  
“Mmhmmm,” she purrs, head craning upward to lick a hot stripe over his slick covered scent gland, “I want that.”  
  
His control snaps, just then. Maybe it’s her hot breath and eager tongue on his gland. Maybe it’s the way she’s twisting her fist _just_ so to make him shiver. Maybe it’s the fact that she absolutely wants him to mark her just as she’d marked him.  
  
There’s something so _fucking_ hot about it. Yeah, sure, the scenting and stuff is great but just the _idea_ of rubbing his spunk into her skin, seeing her debauched and disgusting and … yeah maybe it’s the scenting.   
  
He wants this. Really really really wants this. Wants to cum all over her then drag the white ribbons he’s made over her nipples and watch it pool between her tits and maybe run his index finger through it then feed it to her. The thought alone sends another shiver down his spine.  
  
His hand snakes down to join hers. Gripping the base of his cock and giving his knot a good squeeze. Settling just below hers to follow her chosen rhythm.   
  
Now, normally he’s _very_ particular about mastubration. Knows just which way to brush his cockhead, how to cradle his balls with his free hand, knows just which way to twist and what pace to set in order to either prolong his pleasure or get it over with. But right now? He’s more than happy to let her take the lead. Because for all his control, he knows it’s only a matter of time before she’ll be covered in his spend.  
  
… that doesn’t stop his lexicon of filth from bubbling to the surface though.  
  
“You want me to cum all over these tits?”  
  
“Yeah.” God her tone alone could make him cum on command.  
  
“Ohhh fuck, yesss,” he’s hissing and curling his lip, panting open mouthed over hers where their breaths mingle, “just like that baby. Fuck that feels so good.”  
  
Their joint hands work his shaft in tandem. His lower where his tensed flexors rhythmically bump his knot. Hers higher where her thumb occasionally rubs his frenulum and occasionally glides over his hypersensitive head. Where she’s both the conductor and the lead.  
  
“Make me yours, Ben,” she mewls seductively. The rocking of their joint fapping sets their bodies alight. Rhythmic and wet and toe-curling and only serving to heighten her husky words.  
  
“Yeah?”  
  
“Mmhmm,” contrary to her words she kisses him feather light on the chin, “paint me with your cum, Alpha.”  
  
**_Mate is so hot.  
  
_ ** “Yeah? You want my hot baby juice all over your body?”  
  
**_*face palm* not again.  
  
_ ** “Wanna milk this cock together? Hmm?”  
  
He’s having a rough time keeping his voice steady. Instead he sounds hoarse and out of breath. More so than when he punches the treadmill on 9 to warm up.  
  
**_*groan* this is so embarrassing. Do you have some kind of farm animal kink? I haven’t found anything in here but...  
  
_ ** **_Note to self — remind this derp to research up dirty talk in his free time.  
  
_ ** He can feel it. Her arousal spiking, blooming in the air alongside his. Can smell it, the degree to which she wants it. The pulsing heat of it pools at the base of his spine and makes him twitch and swell in their hands. Draws his balls tight and makes his dick thrum like a fucking torpedo powering up for launch.  
  
“Every last drop,” her tone _so_ close to begging.  
  
“Yeah?”  
  
“Please,” … aaaand there’s the begging, “cum on me. Please, please, please.”  
  
He’s been reduced to grunting incoherent filth and laboured breaths. A dumbed down Ben whose entire life beats between their closed fists. Where he’s being stroked to within an inch of his life. Where he’s gonna blow and he’s gonna…  
  
“Like a fucking finger painting,” she moans, “cover me, Ben. Cover me then paint pictures of pups on my tits with it, Ben. Like an Alpha Warhol classic. Come for me.”  
  
**_Aaand … she’s just as weird as you. Christ you two belonged together before her Omega and I came along.  
  
_ ** “Oh fuck, oh fuck oh fuck ohfuck.”  
  
His lips chase hers, kissing her artlessly. Hungrily. Hands pumping steadily. Hips joining the fray to fuck into their joint fists. The only sounds in the room are their frantic beating of his dick and his needy groans muffled into her open mouth.  
  
“Gon-cu,” he mumbles breathlessly into her mouth. What he’s _trying_ to say is that he’s gonna cum because he is and because the pressure has reached a boiling point and he’s gonna cum.  
  
Fuck.  
  
_Fuck.  
  
_ “Fuuuuck.”  
  
He spurts his hot spend all over her chest and stomach. Grunting into her mouth and hissing with every milking pass of her fist while he squeezes his knot. Waves of sheer ecstasy melt his bones and curl his toes, zinging from the tip of his dick straight to his brain like the most excellent fucking cocktail of drugs.  
  
And his precious mate? She’s moaning. _Moaning_ like he just gave _her_ an orgasm.  
  
Wait. He should. For that mindblowing handjob he should eat her out again.  
  
**_Bond works both ways. She can feel your pleasure too.  
  
_ ** “Mmph,” me mumbles against her lips, “so good. You…”  
  
“Are amazing?”  
  
Is she … throwing his words back to him?  
  
There’s a chuckle bubbling in his chest. An unstoppable one at her snarky little retort even as they’re still working the last few drops out of him. Even as he’s twitchy and his face might still be contorted in his very awkward ‘O’ face. “I _was_ going to say a goddess,” he breathes, pressing a soft kiss to her nose, “but now you’re just a gremlin.”  
  
She giggles sweetly, hand releasing him gently, snaking between their bodies until her cum soaked fingers find their way into her mouth. Where she proceeds to lick them clean.  
  
Maybe his jaw hits the floor. He’s certain his eyes are bugging out of his head because, “you’re incredible.”  
  
“Mmhmm, we’ve established that already,” her eyes flash joyously, tongue darting over her cream covered purlicue, “now, I believe you owe me a finger painting.”  
  
“Yes ma’am,” he smacks a wet kiss on her lips. Wet purlicue between them and all.   
  
He used to find the idea of tasting his own spend disgusting. Abhorrent. Now? He doesn’t have a single fuck to give. Because the way she’s licking her fingers it looks tastier than a soft serve cone on a hot Coruscant day.  
  
He flops over, a heavy bounce on an abused mattress, curls himself around her body so he can comfortably run his palm over her abdomen. Fingers dipping into the pearlescent mess and drawing calligraphic swirls from her belly button up to her sternum. Dipping his ring finger into the deepest pool in her navel and using that to circle her nipples one at a time.  
  
Ben’s particular, okay? Besides he wants her tits covered in his cum. So he’s taking her request _very_ seriously. The swirls on her belly becoming his own perverted version of a debauched Starry Night.  
  
“That’s … very artistic but I requested a Warhol,” she snorts. The heave of her belly jiggling the puddles and sending one running down her side.  
  
He catches it with his fingers, swiping the cum back onto a solid surface and scooping some up. Painting her lips with it. “You can stick that opinion into that filthy mouth of yours.”  
  
“Mmph. Hi teapot,” she titters, tongue darting out to clean his fingers, “I’m kettle.”  
  
_Christ does she ever stop?  
  
_ **_The snark is strong with this one.  
  
_ ** He ignores the jab. Doesn’t rise to the occasion for once. Mostly because he’s too blissed out. She’s probably right anyway. Yeah, sure, she’d asked him to paint her with his cum but he’s also told her he’d cover her in hot baby juice so… tit for tat?  
  
“How are you feeling? Need more?”  
  
“M good for now,” she shakes her head, “and I feel great, actually.”  
  
Her fingers curl around his, guide them down to her belly where she flattens his palm against the mess. Swirls it around then drags it up her torso, across her breasts then back down between her legs.  
  
He’s not even thinking about sex right now. Sated and drenched in the raunchy scent of their spend. Just enjoying the soft touches and squelching where his fingers massage his gooey cum. “Tired?”  
  
“Surprisingly, no? I mean I could sleep but…”  
  
_This could be a good opportunity.  
  
_ “Hey, uh … Rey?” he perks up (maybe a little too eagerly), leaning on his forearm, “do you, maybe, wanna … talk?”  
  
“About?”  
  
His hand trails up her body until it reaches her neck. Working the sticky spend over each scent gland then pressing it against the peeling scabs on her trapezius. “I have some questions about your Omega.”  
  
“Beeeeen,” she groans, “why? _Why_? She’s so annoying. Can’t we just let her sleep?”  
  
He blinks dumbly at her, a little surprised by her candor on the topic for once. Okay … confirmation he hadn’t misread her but now he wants to know even _more.  
  
_ “She’s just,” Rey huffs, throws her head back into the pillow, “she’s really mean to me.”  
  
“We don’t have to if you’re not comfortable,” he caresses her forehead with his spare arm, the other has mindlessly drifted to knead her breast. “I just … for science and to make sure we’re doing this right. I’m curious.”  
  
“We’re not like you and your … _Kylo_ you know?”  
  
“I gathered as much.”  
  
The seconds seem to tick by in silence. The cum on her body’s become tacky and, in places where it’s thinned, crusty. A tight pearlescent film that reminds him a little too much of liquid bandage.  
  
She forces air through her nose. “Fine,” her head tilts towards him, “but will you hold me?”  
  
Does he grin like a buffoon? Abso-fucking-lutely.  
  
“Of course.”  
  
He’d say he’s done a good enough job smothering her in his load. Drawing it thin to coat as much of her torso as possible. Worst case scenario he’ll do it again and make sure she’s glazed like a birthday cake if she requests it again.   
  
But right now, he can smell her distress. He doesn’t need to see how her shoulders scrunch up or how her eyes dart down. Doesn’t need more than the dimming of the jasmine bouquet to know she needs comfort.  
  
He gathers her into his side and throws his leg over her hips. Angling himself at _just_ the right angle to let the protrusions of her pelvic ilium support him without added pressure. _Just_ the right angle to keep the weight of his leg off her bladder. His body shifts just enough to snake his hand beneath her back and pull her closer. Hugging her tight and settling her head onto his shoulder, draping his chin over her crown.  
  
A long sigh. “Thank you. I … what do you want to know?”  
  
Her fingers have found his pectoral muscle and begin drawing swirls that remind him of the ones he’d doodled along her stomach.   
  
_Adorable. Beautiful. Perfect.  
  
_ _Mine.  
  
_ “Why do you hate her?”  
  
No time like the present to blow the lid off, right?   
  
He probably should have used a little more finesse on the approach. But … finesse has never been his way. Rather, brusque confrontation. And above all, he’s blissed the fuck out and too relaxed for his own good.  
  
“I don’t … I don’t know. Hate is a strong word. I don’t think we’re there yet but for a while it definitely looked like we’d have an adversarial relationship. She’s just … really mean.”  
  
“You’ve said that already,” he presses an encouraging kiss into her hair then draws her closer.  
  
“Now _you’re_ being a brat,” she chuckles.  
  
“And you’re deflecting,” he corrects with a squeeze.  
  
“Maybe,” she softly swats to her pectoral-turned-invisible-art canvas.”You’ve read my file, I’m assuming?”  
  
“Yeah?”  
  
_What’s that got to do with anything?  
  
_ “So you know I don’t have familial history.”  
  
“If that’s something you think I'm worried about, just know I don’t give a shit.” Because he doesn’t.  
  
“Oh it’s not that. I’ve made peace with it. Kind of. Learned to accept that it’s just a part of who I am. It’s just …” another sigh, a little grunt, “I guess I have this thing with not being worthy and … does Kylo ever, you know, tell you you’re not good enough?”  
  
**_*gasp* I would NEVER.  
  
_ ** “Honestly?” His hands have started soothing down her arms, “probably. I don’t really remember...”  
  
**_How dare you! I’ve been nothing but supportive.  
  
_ ** “I’m pretty sure he’s called me a stubborn ass once or twice.” Maybe he says it to set her at ease. Maybe he says it to underhandedly jab his Alpha. Who knows.  
  
**_*indignantly* and you’ve called me MUCH worse.  
  
_ ** She snorts into his chest. “Well, he isn’t wrong.”  
  
**_Ha! Mate agrees.  
  
_ ** He braces himself, ready to ask the question that’s at the tip of his tongue. Squeezes her tighter. “Does … your Omega tell you you’re not good enough?”  
  
Her throat moves. He can feel her swallow then nod. A tiny movement that holds so much weight. So much pain. “Yeah. For so long she told me I wasn’t good enough to find a mate. It drove me crazy. And you know what makes it worse?”  
  
Her head tilts up, breaking out of their snuggle to meet him eye to eye. “The more I was hospitalized the louder she got. _Meaner_ . At first she was nice enough. Explained a few things but … the more I was put to sleep or sedated … the more restless she got when I came too.”  
  
**_Oh my God. No wonder Omega is so needy.  
  
_ ** The picture becomes clearer as the words leave her mouth. Why didn’t he see it before? A month’s worth of underwhelming charts and a month’s worth of suffering. A month’s worth of her Omega not finding what she needs and blaming her host.  
  
A month’s worth of that Omega voice growing needier and needier until … well until she met him.  
  
_Oh God.  
  
_ What if his mother hadn’t picked up the chart? What if she’d stayed just a little longer under another, equally stubborn physician’s care? Would he have presented too? Would he have claimed her? Would someone else have treated her better? Worse? Would he have ever had the chance to know such pure happiness?  
  
**_Slow down man, you’re spiraling.  
  
_ ** “Hey,” her hand strokes up his jaw and against his scent gland, “relax. It’s okay now. We’re here and … I guess now maybe her and I can work on building a relationship like yours and Kylo’s.”  
  
**_She can smell your distress, you know.  
  
_ ** He swallows down the knot in his throat. Tamps down the icy dread that’s shot through his veins. “W-what does she say?”  
  
He can’t help it. The churning in his gut can’t be placated by a few nice words, no matter how sweetly she delivers them. He needs to know _more._ Needs to know everything and then figure out how to fix it.   
  
“Umm … she doesn’t anymore but … she told me that I’d never find a mate. That I wasn’t good enough for one because if I was we’d have found one already. That we’re a bad Omega. Then, later, after you...” she gulps, drops her head and nuzzles into the hollow of his throat, “that we don’t deserve you. That you didn’t want us because you weren’t knotting us on the plane.”  
  
“Oh, sweetheart,” he can’t help squeezing her a little tighter, “I do want you. _Both_ of you. It was just…”  
  
“Inappropriate? I know,” she sighs, “but try telling that to a … Jesus she’s defending her actions even now … I get it you were distressed just let me talk to him okay? Anyway, she was just at her wits end. I get that too. Honestly, I do. I guess it just … struck a nerve.”  
  
“Because of your history it prayed on your wounds and cut deeper than you’d imagined,” he picks up on her stray thought.  
  
“Yeah,” she sighs and burrows deeper.  
  
“Well, we’re here now.”  
  
“We are.”  
  
“And I’m with you and I want you. Again, _both_ of you.” He feels her lips twitch. “And I think you’re an amazing Omega. So, so good. You are absolutely worth it and ... I’m the one who doesn’t deserve you.”  
  
“Bullshit.” It shoots past her lips like a reflex.  
  
“I’m serious. Ask Kyl ... wait, you can’t. Well, he knows all about how much I keep wondering just what I did to deserve you. I guess you’ll just have to take my word for it but … I don’t regret any of it. And there’s nowhere I’d rather be than right here, with you. Meeting you has been ... it’s like a dream.”  
  
**_You sell yourself short far too much.  
  
_ ** “It really is,” she agrees quietly, yawning.  
  
“Anyway,” he tries to deflect, “we’re here now. That’s all that matters. We’re here and we’re together and we _want_ to be.”  
  
He pauses for a moment, wondering just how much her Omega’s shared in her hysterical state. Does she know? Should he broach the subject?  
  
“H-hey Rey?”  
  
“Mmh?”  
  
“You know this … this is permanent. Right?”  
  
She nods into his neck. “What a travesty, right?”  
  
Maybe he scowls. That one struck a nerve. Deep down inside he’s well aware it was said in jest but he’s sensitive and his walls have crumbled.  
  
_Pathetic.  
  
_ “You know I’m kidding, right?”   
  
**_Your scent’s spiking. Pull it together man!  
  
_ ** “Ben?” Her hands wriggle until they’re wrapped around him. Pull him in tight until he can feel her nose smooshed against his pectoral. “There’s nowhere I’d rather be … than right here, with you.”  
  
God he really doesn’t know what he did to deserve her. Him. The greatest asshole of all time. The guy who doesn't have an ounce of humanity for even his youngest patients. The same guy who fights tooth and nail to hide a burgeoning laughter when clinic patients show up with attempted self-stitches.  
  
That very same guy would bend over backwards until his spine cracked and then some just to see her smile. Would more than happily sustain an irreversible injury if it meant lightening her load.  
  
He hugs her back, presses a kiss to her head ready to move past their insecurities and figure this out. Together. Because they will. That much is clear now.  
  
“I’m glad, Rey. We have a bed and a nest and food and … we’ll figure out the rest together.”  
  
“Food?”  
  
“Yeah, I prepped a few things while you were sleeping. Uh … so we don’t starve.”  
  
There’s something blooming in the air. This time it’s not the saccharine sweetness of arousal. It’s more floral. Like an orchard of jasmine blooming all at once. There’s fresh air and sunshine, the scent of life. It’s a layered sort of scent that has so much depth he could spend a lifetime unpacking it.   
  
The only word he’s got for it is ‘happiness’, and even that doesn’t do it justice. Doesn’t encompass the emotions it elicits. Doesn’t quite capture the feeling it blankets him with. The way it settles every anxiety and every fear. Every insecurity and every worst possible scenario his mind could dredge up. It’s like morphine but warmer. Like sunshine injected directly into his veins.  
  
He can’t help smile against her forehead. Can’t help kissing her there again either.  
  
“Babe, d’you want a smoothie?”

  
  


**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hey you made it! 
> 
> Wow 10,000 words and they ain't bone?
> 
> I know, I know. I need an exorcism.
> 
> In a lot of works Benny is an oral genius. And don't get me wrong, that's my head canon too, he just seems like the type that'd go to town. But the more I thought about how to broach reciprocated oral, the more it felt wrong for someone with his ego to be a giver. So I made that part of his internal code then tore it to shreds 😈
> 
> Random fun fact: the entire " **the** Dr. Ben Solo does _not_ eat pussy" bit was all part of the pre-written snapshots before the prequel was even finished.


	6. Chapter 6

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> _Unfazed, he continues eyeing the frozen fruit bags stacked in her freezer. “We’ve got triple berry, tropical mix, or … mangolicious.”_
> 
> _“Tough choice,” she muses, her hand snaking around his waist, “what are you in the mood for?”_
> 
> _“Mmh, you don’t wanna know.”_
> 
> _“Oh?” her fingers pinch his belly chub. The very same he can’t get rid of no matter how much he cleans up his diet and how many crunches he forces on himself without puking at the gym. “Maybe I want to know?”_
> 
> _“You really don’t. It’s obscene,” he cranes his head to nuzzle into her neck, “but if you must know it’s this addictive mix of…” he sniffs and groans theatrically, “vanilla and jasmine.” Fuck he’s really turned on._

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So this has become a little (read a lot) self-indulgent and therefore the tags have been updated. 
> 
> Notable tag updates (that specifically also apply to this chapter): Oral Knotting, Face-Fucking Lite, Squirting, and Perfectly Timed Love Confessions.
> 
> For some reason I've enjoyed building him into an egotistic crystal tower only to take a wrecking ball to said ego.
> 
> Having said that, I've had a look-see at the outline and all this self-indulgence is gonna push the chapter count up. So we're definitely going past 10. Not by much, but some. I'll keep the chapter count as is for now but expect a bump or two (or 4) in the near future.
> 
> Shoutout to [@justsunshinerey](https://twitter.com/justsunshinerey) for braving this monster for me <3

“How mad would you be if I ordered you a Vitamix?”  
  
He’s staring at her pathetic little bullet blender. All of its bits and pieces ( _attachments_ , she’d corrected when he’d playfully mocked the Mickey Mouse blender in her Mickey Mouse kitchen) sprawled across her counter. Doing _nothing_ to make him feel any more hopeful about the quality of smoothie they’ll end up with. Which right now is shaping up to be lumpy at best.  
  
His mother bought one of those once. On a whim. Maybe even the same one Rey is so proudly arranging (like clever merchandising will change his opinion). Some tiny little thing from a late night infomercial that made grandiose promises but couldn’t blend pre-made baby food when push came to shove. A motorized blender bottle. All marketing hoopla and zero performance.  
  
His mother’s crapped out within a week and even after having it replaced (thanks to at _least_ a decent warranty) he ended up buying her a Vitamix. She uses that exclusively now. Even bought every available attachment on the market. Some twice, because Leia is an impulse spender at heart and forgets what she owns. Buys doubles without a second thought then, _oops,_ Ben gets to reap the benefits of her forgetfulness. Works out well for him, actually.  
  
Anyway. Vitamix is superior.  
  
“W-what?” She’s sputtering, the sheet slipping from under her pits where she keeps it pinned in place to give him a brief peek of nipple before it gets hoisted up again (unfortunately). “My blender is _perfectly_ suitable for smoothies. It’s literally _made_ for them.” She gestures at the name tag boldly printed on the ‘motor’. Hand sweeping in a Price is Right motion that’s probably a little more aggressive than intended.  
  
 **_I really wish you gave me a chance to be your filter. You’re pissing off mate.  
  
_ ** Ben continues on unperturbed by either her adorable sputtering or his Alpha’s attempted wisdom. There’s a game afoot, whether either are aware or not, and it’s piqued his interest.   
  
“Uh huh,” he cocks his brow and hip, leaning easily against her counter. If the towel slips … well, it’s her fault. She made him wear it.   
  
“Is _too!”_ She balks, picking up on his sarcastic tone, “I’ll have you know I’ve made _many_ smoothies with it. All of them blended perfectly. _And_ they were delicious.”  
  
“Uh huh,” he’s smirking now, hand resting easily on his free hip, watching her bluster. She’s so fucking cute like this. Like an angry little koala. It makes her accent really shine. The way she over-accentuates the perfectly to sound like peeh-fectly.  
  
 **_Yeaaah! Strong Omega. Mmm, let’s knot.  
  
_ ** “It’s the perfect appliance for one person. I don’t need some ungodly large makes-soup-for-an-army sized blender that’ll wake up the nearest neighbour…” he’s stalking forward now, nice and easy with that knowing, unwavering smirk, while she barrels on her self-righteous tirade, “who, I’ll have you know is at least a half mile that way.” Her hand points accusingly to her left. Not like he cares to decipher which cardinal direction she’s frantically waving towards with the way she’s giving him a tantalizing peek of side boob.  
  
“Uh huh,” his hand reaches to caress her jaw. Fingers splaying wide to thread through her hair and tilt her flustered face up towards his.  
  
 _Keep ranting, sweetheart. You’re absolutely delicious when you’re like this.  
  
_ “Those things are ridiculous! Have you ever heard one? They have one at my gym and Christ you can hear it from the sauna and that’s all of … what? 3 doors deep and halfway across the property? It sounds like an enraged Tyrannosaur with explosive diarrhea!”  
  
 _It’s called the Vitamix growl, baby.  
  
_ **_You really have a death wish, don’t you?  
  
_ ** “Uh huh,” his free hand curls around her waist, pulling her closer to where that fucking towel struggles to remain on his hips … or more appropriately, struggles to _not fall_ off his hips (which he’d very much like it to do). He presses a soft kiss to her mouth, halting her ranting monologue.   
  
They must look an odd pair. She, wrapped in a stained bedsheet and he in a too-tiny towel. Both their hair would make his mother and her ‘lectures on presentability’ faint. The very picture of debauched. He, playful and smitten, she frazzled and blustering though he’d bet handsomely she’s enjoying this. Both covered in crusty cum and sweat and filthy, poor approximations of clothing which _she’d_ insisted on...  
  
As much as he’d like to hear more about prehistoric bowel movements, she’s absolutely fuckable when she’s like this. All feisty like an incensed tasmanian devil. In fact, he’s equal parts horny and amused right now. “I didn’t say it wasn’t a good blender. I only asked if you’d be upset if I ordered you a Vitamix.”  
  
“Same difference,” she grouses but doesn’t pull away. A good sign. Not that he’s letting it go, though. He’s a hunter and his prey is locked in his crosshairs. All he needs to do is pull the trigger at _juuuust_ the right moment.  
  
 **_Jeez you take verbal sparring to a whole new level, you know that?  
  
_ ** “Rey?”   
  
“Hmm?” She’s so pliant. Despite her ire, he feels her mold to him. Feels her slipping resistance as surely as he feels her uneven breaths against his lips. He wants to kiss her into submission _almost_ as much as he wants to drive this point home.  
  
“What kind of smoothies have you made with it?”  
  
Her brows furrow, eyes scrunch in skepticism. “You know … the normal kind.”  
  
“Yeah?” He grinds once against her belly. The original plan was to fluster _her_ but at this point he’s not sure who’s flustered anymore. He’s rock hard beneath that little towel and that single grind has done nothing but narrow his vision and stroke the craving for her.   
  
“Of course.” (She’s not letting it go)  
  
“What was in them?” (Neither is he)  
  
“Almond milk, scoop of nutritional shake.”  
  
 _Aha!  
  
_ He swipes his tongue over her pursed lips. Holding her closer to feel the heat of her body and because he wants a front row seat to her fury … which he’s about to stroke, “so it’s a plug-in blender bottle.”  
  
She gasps against his lips, where his smirk’s bloomed into a shit-eating grin. “Rude,” she admonishes, finding his nipple and pinching it roughly, “you haven’t even tried it!”  
  
“I haven’t,” he agrees (shit-eating grin still engaged), this time slotting his lips over hers completely. The debacle is over anyway. He’s going to order a Vitamix and until it arrives they’ll just make do with whatever the hell that little sputtering engine manages to whip up for them (even if he’s pretty sure it couldn’t blend fast enough to whip cream).  
  
She melts into him despite the charade. At first with a little newfound resistance, but that soon morphs into angry nips of his lower lip. Eventually he’s granted passage into her mouth where he’s intent on licking every square inch of her oral cavity.  
  
And he would have done so, too, was even in the process of ramping up his exploration if it wasn’t for one of the blasted lip ring attachments falling off the counter and interrupting their heated makeout session with its clatter.   
  
When it’s all said and done, when she’s pulled away to glance at the offending object, he mentally promises himself to take the fucking thing out back and smash it to bits a-la Office Space. He’s pretty sure he’d seen a bat in her garage, right?  
  
Her head turns back to kiss him softly. “No you won’t, Lumbergh,” an amused mumble against his lips. Her hands have drifted down to grope his ass. Not that he’s complaining. He’s pretty sure he’s groped her enough to be considered indecent on any measurement scale. “And secure that towel,” with one last peck to the lips, she pushes him off by the hips, “I won’t have you subjecting my living space to your nudity.”  
  
God he’s frazzled. And horny. Again.  
  
“You _like_ my dick.”  
  
“ _Cock,”_ she corrects over her shoulder, having already turned to plug the little blender (that couldn’t) next to the slow cooker. “And my appreciation of your anatomy has no bearing on what my living room _and_ kitchen ought to be subjected to.”  
  
He probably shouldn’t tell her he’d cooked the entirety of their meals in the buff, then.  
  
With a huff he sets out to open her freezer, decidedly _not_ securing the towel around his waist as ordered. Hey, if it wants to fall off, and if she happens to like what she sees to the point where she might be tempted to drop that bedsheet … who’s he to tempt fate? It _could_ be destiny, after all, to fully debauch her kitchen. Why shrink those odds unnecessarily?  
  
He tugs her by the sheet, pulls her into his side and drapes his arm over her shoulders casually. Places a loud smacking kiss to her temple. “So, what’ll it be babe?”  
  
“Oooh Mochi,” she coos, grabs the box and flings it onto the counter.  
  
Ben rolls his eyes but doesn’t let her go. Doesn’t even acknowledge her immediate reach for junk food (because he understands it’s a natural response to nutritional deficiency and because he’s struck by a sudden craving for Doritos). Besides, he could probably demolish half that box if given the chance, what with his recently deprived sweet tooth and all. Again … tempting fate.  
  
Unfazed, he continues eyeing the frozen fruit bags stacked in her freezer. “We’ve got triple berry, tropical mix, or … mangolicious.”  
  
“Tough choice,” she muses, her hand snaking around his waist, “what are you in the mood for?”  
  
“Mmh, you don’t wanna know.”  
  
“Oh?” her fingers pinch his belly chub. The very same he can’t get rid of no matter how much he cleans up his diet and how many crunches he forces on himself without puking at the gym. “Maybe I _want_ to know?”  
  
“You really don’t. It’s _obscene_ ,” he cranes his head to nuzzle into her neck, “but if you must know it’s this addictive mix of…” he sniffs and groans theatrically, “vanilla and jasmine.” Fuck he’s really turned on.   
  
**_*alarms blaring* abort! Abort! Feed now. Knot later.  
  
_ ** _But you just…  
  
_ **_I changed my mind.  
  
_ ** “So,” he sighs, willing himself back to the task at hand, “I’m thinking mangolicious?”  
  
“Mmm, okay. Yeah.” Her voice is distant. Wistful even.  
  
At least he’s not the only frazzled one.  
  
It takes every ounce of brain muscle to make his free hand move. Every bit of mental fortitude to reach into the freezer instead of pinning her against the counter. So he reluctantly kisses the little divot between her jaw and ear, and forces his face back to the freezer. Grabs the bag of mangolicious and tosses it on the counter next to the box of mochi.  
  
She heaves a long sigh and leans her head against his shoulder. “How are we _ever_ going to function? Is it always going to be like this?”  
  
 _Probably. I can’t imagine not wanting you.  
  
_ It’s a solid question. Actually…  
  
 **_Eeh, eventually you’ll learn to ignore the urges. Don’t forget you’re in the middle of a heat and your hormones are spiking … so everything’ll revolve around conceiving pups. Once it’s over it’ll be more manageable.  
  
_ ** “Kylo says…”  
  
“I know. She just told me too. Apparently it’ll get easier,” she snorts, “clearly she hasn’t seen you.”  
  
 _Oh?  
  
_ “Oh don’t be daft,” she swats his belly, pulling away to prepare two of those pathetic little bullet cups, “you _are_ easy on the eyes.”  
  
“Oh?” Maybe he’s flexing while opening the fridge to grab the leftover oat milk. Whatever.  
  
“Are you…” she squints at him, tilting her head and biting back a smile, “are you fishing for compliments Dr. Bonaparte?”  
  
“Me?” He gasps mockingly, carton of oat milk flush against his sternum in faux outrage, “never!”  
  
He places said carton onto the counter then brackets her between his arms. Closes the gap between their faces again.  
  
 **_You two have it baaaaad. This isn’t even me.  
  
_ ** “But from you ... I’ll never tire of compliments from _you._ ”  
  
“Mmh,” she grunts, those _hands_ kneading his ass _again,_ “cause you’ll be a good _Alpha_ for me, right?”  
  
“Uh huh.”  
  
“Thought so,” God does she moonlight as a masseuse? He’d never thought his glutes were tight but as much as this is sexually arousing she’s also managing to work out a deep knot he didn’t even know he’d had.  
  
 **_Ha. Deep knot.  
  
_ ** _You’re so immature.  
  
_ **_You’re just jealous I connected the dots before you.  
  
_ ** _Touché.  
  
_ “Now be a good Alpha and make those smoothies for me, hmm?”  
  
 _Wait what?  
  
_ She’s already ducking under his arm, sashaying towards the staircase with the filthy sheet dragging behind her like some kind of derelict bridal veil and a tantalizing hip sway that’s got to be deliberate. “I need to pee.” She throws _that_ little tidbit of information while his towel _finally_ falls off his hips, leaving him alone and hard and fucking naked in her kitchen.   
  
_Fine.  
  
_ Maybe he growls in frustration. Whatever, he’s a hormonal clusterfuck.  
  
 **_She got you there.  
  
_ ** **_That Omega is so hot right now.  
  
_ ** _Are you … oh my GOD YOU ARE!  
  
_ **_Whaaaat? You make movie references all the time. I figured I could throw one in.  
  
_ ** _*sniffles* I’m proud of you bud. It was beautiful.  
  
_ With a reluctant sigh and a pleased head shake he sets out to make the smoothies. First finding the scissors to cut the tab (Dr. Ben Solo does _not_ like jagged edges even if the bag is notched for easy tear). Staring at the cups and the bag of frozen whatever-the-fuck that’s supposed to be (bananas and mango and strawberries and ‘organic’ though he _highly_ doubts that claim).  
  
He hears the telltale tinkle of urination. Not even a single bit fazed by the fact that she’s chosen to pee with the door open.  
  
And of course, his doctor brain switches on at the worst possible moment.  
  
“Hey babe?” He shouts over his shoulder.  
  
“What?” Her answer matches his volume perfectly.  
  
It also doesn’t bother him one single bit that they’ve crossed the boundary into the yelling-across-the-house type of communication his parents are infamous for. Except, of course, his childhood home is … what … 10 times bigger than this?   
  
**_Right? What is this, a center for ants?  
  
_ ** _Ok that’s enough. You’ve found the Zoolander stash. The key to good line dropping is varying the source to keep the references fresh.  
  
_ “Uh … does it burn?”  
  
 **_God you’re weird. But kudos to you for keeping it real.  
  
_ ** “Does what burn?”  
  
He can see it already. A bigger house, of course. Him in the upstairs ensuite searching for the soap yelling across the house because she’s in the den working on her paper. Or him working through the instructions of a porch swing with the patio doors open while she’s making a smoothie in the kitchen.   
  
Maybe his lip quivers. Fuck you for judging him. It’s a beautiful picture, okay?  
  
 **_You know what would be more beautiful?  
  
_ ** **_Pups.  
  
_ ** Ok fine, that _is_ nicer. Ben might whimper. Again, shut up.  
  
“Does, uh,” he clears his throat to loosen the emotional knot that’s magically lodged itself there, “does it burn when you pee?”  
  
“Wh- are you serious?” Her tone is incredulous but steady. Much like her stream.  
  
“Yeah. I’m just … curious.”  
  
 **_Interesting choice of words...  
  
_ ** “Well,” she pauses, the stream slows to a trickle, “no.”  
  
Ben shrugs, reaches into a cupboard to produce a dessert plate and pops out 4 frozen vanilla mochi balls. Lets them clink and slide onto the plate where he’ll leave them to thaw. “Voiding enough?”  
  
“I don’t even know what that means?”  
  
He reins in the urge to respond ‘no one knows what it means, but it’s provocative … it gets the people _going’_. Instead he pulls his proverbial white coat tighter and asks the medically _appropriate_ question. “It … uh … it sounds like a good stream but is it less than usual? More?”  
  
There’s a pause as he shoves the Mochi box back in the freezer. He waits with bated breath for an answer because he can _feel_ she’s working through something. Feels his cogwheels turning as if _he_ was the one performing a feat in mental gymnastics but can’t quite catch the gist of the subject.  
  
“Are you trying to _doctor_ me?”  
  
The cups are half full of fruit and he’s back to balancing the open box of oat milk, questioning his life’s choices. Or at the very least, the choices he’s made that led up to this conversation.  
  
“No?” He squeaks sheepishly.  
  
“Uh huh,” the stream picks up again.   
  
**_Jeez that’s a lot of piss.  
  
_ ** “Colour?” He shrugs off the embarrassment, more interested in the health of her urinary tract after their … activities.  
  
“What?”  
  
“You know? Colour. Is it cloudy? Pink or red tinged?”  
  
“Oh my God!” She squeals which has the unintended effect of turning the remaining trickle into a rushing cascade, “you _are_ doctoring me.”  
  
Now he’s definitely feeling something akin to embarrassment. Can feel it in the way the tips of his ears flush and probably take on a red tinge.  
  
“I just…”  
  
“I don’t have a urinary tract infection, if that’s what you’re fishing for,” she answers simultaneously with his blundering.  
  
“Good, good,” he mumbles more to himself, then, louder, “I just want to make sure you’re okay.”  
  
“You’ll write me a prescription for good ol’ penicillin if I do though, right?”  
  
There’s a flush and the whooshing sounds of the sink’s tap. So, of course ... he yells louder. “No allergies, right?” He’s poured the oat milk to a satisfactory level and is working the bladed lid on the first cup.  
  
“You read my file,” she’s yelling louder too, “you tell me.”  
  
He’d never considered himself the type to have this. The kind of easy relationship that comes with open doored urination. If anything, he’d have rolled his eyes and called it a perverted mimicry of a relationship and probably included the word gross in there somewhere. And yet here he is, enjoying every second of it with someone who was just a stack of hospital notes a mere week ago.   
  
It’s strange how natural it feels. Not like something foreign but something that’s been there all along. Like that $20 bill you find under the couch cushions. Like he’s never quite lived before this.  
  
“Smart ass,” he chuckles just as she clears the corner dragging in a waft of that artificial black cherry merlot handwash, “c’mere and work your Mickey Mouse blender.”  
  
The sharp sting of the towel’s edge swats his butt cheek. “Ow.”  
  
“I told you to secure that towel,” the admonishment is hissed just as he turns into a face full of towel.  
  
“It _just_ fell off, I swear!” He defends weakly.  
  
“Uh huh. Sure,” she sasses, flipping the prepped smoothie cup and securing it in place, “if we do anything stupid down here, just know I’m billing _you_ for the deep cleaning.”  
  
He hasn’t wrapped the towel around his hips. Nope. No siree bob. Because he’s just got his opening and he’ll be damned if he lets the opportunity to have a light snack on her countertop slip through his fingers. Preferably dripping over the edge and onto the tiles.  
  
And then maybe he’ll knot her by the sink.  
  
 **_You depraved, sick motherfucker.  
  
_ ** With a glimmer of hope and that very same self-important cockiness he brings to the free clinic in the bowels of the hospital, the steps behind her. Wraps his arms around her waist and grinds himself against her peachy ass.  
  
“If that’s supposed to be a deterrent,” he moans softly against her ear, “I’ll go grab my credit card right fucking now.”  
  
She twists her hips back in response and grips the cup a little tighter. Knuckles turning white where she’s holding onto the pathetic little base of the blender.   
  
_I’m gonna fuck you so good right here against this counter.  
  
_ “If only all problems in life could be solved by throwing money at them,” she sighs.  
  
 _Damn right.  
  
_ **_Uhoh.  
  
_ ** “Alas,” she snickers, “you’re a menace and no amount of money could fix _that.”  
  
_ With a firm grip she presses down the cup and the little blender (that most definitely can’t) roars to life.  
  
 _Fuck._

  
  


…

  
  


“How’d you get that sheet anyway?”  
  
“The sheet?”  
  
“Yeah, you know … my bed sheet.” He tugs the corner for emphasis. One of the many loose folds spilling down the side of the counter where she’s perched like a goddess he _could_ be eating out but _noooooo_ … sustenance, she said (and fucking Kylo agreed).  
  
 **_Don’t be dragging me into this.  
  
_ ** She takes a long series of gulps from the cup. Throat bobbing deliciously. “Oh,” she brings down the cup, breathing heavily. She has a smoothie moustache he desperately wants to lick off. He wants to lick a lot of her, actually.  
  
“First of all, would you mind getting your head out of the gutter?” Her head tilts questioningly but there’s an air of friskiness that tells him she doesn’t really mind. An equal spike of vanilla and jasmine accompanied by a flash vision of dark hair nestled between strong thighs. “It’s really loud, you know?”  
  
 **_The bond. She can hear your horny machinations.  
  
_ ** _Pffft. Teapot … kettle.  
  
_ _Was that…  
  
_ **_Yeah. She’s definitely thinking it too.  
  
_ ** “You’re deflecting again.”  
  
“I might be,” she nods, taking another sip from the cup, “but I’m not the one edging myself when I _should be drinking my smoothie.”_ For effect her brows quirk up and her eyes drift down to his crotch where he’s tenting the offending towel.  
  
“Babe, I _am_ drinking,” he makes a show of chugging half. Yep. Lumpy as predicted. Instead of grimacing, the bites back a retort about the quality and, “see? Now quit changing the topic and tell me how my bedsheet managed to travel all the way to Anchorage without my knowledge.”  
  
“Well if you wanted full control over your packed essentials, you shouldn’t have left me in charge.” Of course his precious girl doubles down on stubborn. God why is that so sexy?  
  
It’s because she’s sitting exactly how he’d imagined eating her out, isn’t it? He’d open her legs a little more, of course. Maybe scoot that sweet ass of hers to the very edge and hoist her thighs onto his shoulders … he’ll need a pillow for his knees...  
  
“Objection. Irrelevant.”  
  
She snorts into the cup, giggling. “Overruled counselor. The defendant will not be held accountable for actions performed while under the influence of drugs. _Particularly_ those provided by the plaintiff.”  
  
Not that his boner ever quite deflated but … he’s fucking hard again. And he’s pretty sure his dick just twitched under that fucking towel. She really can keep up with him and, if anything, keep _him_ on his toes for once.  
  
“Besides,” she leans in conspiratorially, wiggling her hips forward on the counter, “I’ll tell you a secret, c’mere…”  
  
Does he ever. He’s never moved faster in his life. Wedges himself between her open legs and mentally calculates how long it would take to shimmy off the towel and find her center through the crumpled mass of sheet.  
  
3 seconds. The answer is 3. He’s already found the corner tucked against her breast. One second to pry it loose and 2 to follow it down to unwrap his present.  
  
“It smelled _really_ good,” she purrs, “I really couldn’t help myself.”  
  
 **_Don’t do it. There’ll be plenty of time for that later. Finish your smoothie.  
  
_ ** _Fiiiiine.  
  
_ **_Don’t get smart with me. I’m trying to make sure you survive this.  
  
_ ** _Yes dad.  
  
_ “Uh huh,” if he’s simpering, it’s because he can smell how much her admission affects her. Because he remembers how she’d rolled around on his bed and how prettily she’d swallowed his cock then. “Keep it,” he kisses half the smoothie mustache off her lips then nibbles his way across her top lip to collect the rest, “it looks better on you anyway.”  
  
 **_*swats angrily* what did I just say?  
  
_ ** Reluctantly, he pulls away from her. With every intention to lean against the sink beside her and continue downing his lumpy smoothie while _absolutely not_ making faces when he’s forced to chew frozen fruit chunks.  
  
But the towel clings to the bedsheet, leaving him in the buff yet again.  
  
“Oy,” her hand swats his bicep softly, “what’d I say about the towel, Ben?”  
  
His eyes glance down, watch his dick swing with humour. Shrugging he leans against the counter, fully nude and proceeds to drink a mouthful of smoothie. “Does it bother you when I’m naked?”  
  
“Pffft.”  
  
“Then?” He cocks his brow, daring her to answer in the negative. He’s many things but his new found sense of smell is most definitely not steering him wrong. Her arousal’s spiked.

"I plead the fifth," she snuffs, turns her head while her cheeks flame red.

_Oooh no you don't._

"Well then I'll just assume you don't mind..."  
  
"Fine," she harrumphs, “you’re distracting.”  
  
“Oh the horror,” he chuckles into his cup, “what am I distracting you from?”  
  
 _Just say it, sweetheart. Just one word and I’ll suck that delicious slick right out of that pretty little pussy. Right here on this counter.  
  
_ “There,” she squeals, “that!” An accusatory finger is wagged his way. “I’m _trying_ to get my nutrients here … as per _your_ orders and then you go messing with my hormones with your … your … filthy thoughts.”   
  
_??  
  
_ ** _God you’re thick headed. Bond, remember?  
  
_** ** _She heard that.  
  
_** Ben laughs, to be fair, it’s more of a chortle on account of the half gulp of chunky smoothie he’s currently trying to swallow. Fighting back a cough, he settles the mostly empty cup on the counter. With great flair he picks up the offending towel, gives it a good shake reminiscent of a bullfighter and secures it around his hips again. “There, better?”  
  
“Well, since you’re in such a charitable mood,” she guffaws, “I’d appreciate it if you could keep your thoughts PG for a little longer, too.”  
  
“Done,” he leans back against the counter, nudging her shoulder lightly while picking up his drink. He beams a smile at her and the responding grin … God does he want to kiss her. She’s trying so hard to remain unaffected and it’s so wholesome he thinks he might die. It makes the rumble in his chest start and his heart stutter. It’s cute. This little tentative thing they’ve got.   
  
Yeah, they’ve fucked more in the last 12 hours than he’s ever had the fortune to in a year. And yeah there’s an easiness in being together that can probably be blamed on this bite parasitic infection business … thing. And yeah, the smells probably don’t help any of it.  
  
But underneath it all, like a riptide, there’s the undeniable pull that’s almost innocent. As pure as a dose of sunshine, which she, inadvertently, seems to radiate. If they’re fucking like rabbits in real life, there’s the makings of an origin story underpinning the sex. Not immediately visible under the hazy cloud of horny but _there._ Tangibly so.  
  
“Anything else, princess?” He asks jokingly. Watching her swallow the dredges slowly avalanching their way down the side of the translucent cup. Chunks of frozen fruit stick to the walls and slide towards her mouth at glacier speed. It’s like a horror movie except he’s not allowed to warn the heroine of impending danger because … well because she told him not to.  
  
“Mm-mm,” she shakes her head slowly just as a massive glob slides out of his view and into her mouth. Gross.  
  
Her cup gets tossed haphazardly into the sink and she stifles a belch while she chews the offending gob of unblended fruit. Somehow, chest burp, crunching ice and all, she still manages to steal his breath.  
  
 _Unreal.  
  
_ ** _When you know, you know.  
  
_** “So,” he doesn’t want to let their camaraderie die. Doesn’t want to let the playful horny settle lest it become awkward because he excels at making awkward _more_ awkward. Is the undisputed champion of turning a crack into an impassable rift with a handful of words or an uncomfortable bodily shift. “Uh … how’d you know about Levothyroxine?”  
  
“Oh?” she hops off the counter and nudges his cup up, “you want me to talk dirty to you again?”  
  
If he was afraid they’d dip into awkward, that’s quashed yet again. She has a penchant for that, he realizes. Because every time he thinks he’s about to ruin things with his big mouth she manages to rescue him and right the sails. That or maybe she really _is_ the one.   
  
**_*groans* you need therapy.  
  
_** “Babe,” he swirls the muddy, separating goop in his cup, “you know i’m always down to hear you talk pharmaceuticals as foreplay. But … I’m genuinely curious. Not many … _people_ know about it. At least not in your age bracket.”  
  
“You wanted to say plebs, didn’t you?”  
  
“Nope,” he takes a gulp of the offending liquid and swallows it like it’s his dad’s disgusting whiskey, “I’d never bulk you in with _those.”  
  
_ She cackles, laughter so unrepentant she doesn’t even bother attempting a veneer of propriety. “I had a foster mom with thyroid issues. Used to pick up her meds on the way home from school,” her hip leans lightly against the counter, eyes fixing past him towards the front door with a far-away look, “same with the other one. Fosamax. That was my last foster mom. She was much older and had advanced osteoporosis so I’d pick up her meds too. Became quite chummy with the pharmacist.”  
  
He knows she’s trying to lighten the mood but he can see sadness envelope her. And even if he didn’t have eyes (which he does, thank you very much) he’d be able to scent it. There’s that muting of her scent again. Something a little bitter cutting the exotic aroma of the jasmine. Like when food doesn’t taste quite right because you have a cold. Like a neutralizing wind sweeping away a waft of something delicious.  
  
“You know pharmacists aren’t real doctors, right?”  
  
She snorts inelegantly, shaking the far away look and shifting her gaze to him. It’s still there, that sliver of sadness even if she’s working on shuttering it. So he opens his arms and beckons her in.  
  
“That’s exactly what the high-and-mighty Dr. Bonaparte would say.” He knows it’s meant in jest. Knows she’s trying to soften the edge of his comment for the benefit of whatever pharmacist has had the fortune of striking an unlikely friendship with his mate. But even so she moves into his arms. Lets him engulf her with his body. Surrendering to his (poorly worded but genuine) offer of comfort.   
  
“They were lucky to have you,” he murmurs into her hair, gingerly shifting just enough to deposit his own unfinished cup into the sink before draping himself over her body.  
  
Her face twists, nose squashed against his sternum, “wish someone told them that. Mrs. Plutt was a nightmare on the best of days.”  
  
“I’m sure she was in her prime karenhood. Well then fuck ‘em,” he barks with conviction, “fuck ‘em for not seeing how great you are.”  
  
“Oh, I don’t know,” she wavers, “I was a pretty rotten kid. Got in a whole lot of trouble.”  
  
“What? You?” he pulls away just enough to meet her gaze, “I don’t believe it.”  
  
She chortles, pinches his nipples again, “ass.”  
  
 _Get used to it sweetheart, you’re stuck with me.  
  
_ “Oh, I know,” she makes a show of rolling her eyes having clearly heard his inner musings. He should really reign that in. “So what’s in the pot?”  
  
“Hmm?” He might be starry eyed.  
  
 ** _I believe you are currently the living embodiment of the heart eyes emoji. Saw it on your phone once.  
  
_** “The crock pot, babe. What’s in there?”  
  
“Oh,” he grins, “cod. With veggies. It should be done soon. Timer’s on my phone. Haven’t figured out the portioning logistics yet but I’m hopeful.” He pulls her in closer, nuzzles their noses together and inhales the refreshing scent of her full fledged jasmine blossoms coming to life, “you might have a Mickey Mouse kitchen but you’re exceptionally well prepared for all eventualities, I’ve found.”  
  
“Mmm,” she nuzzles back, “a compliment? From you? Call the presses.”  
  
He kisses her soft and slow. Enjoying the way her heat radiates through the thin sheet-turned-lounge-wear. The way the vanilla scent thickens and the way it goes straight to his cock.  
  
“I have meal prep containers in the garage, you know?” She mumbles this against his lips and he can’t quite figure out if it’s her delivery, her words, or her presence that make his horny ratchet up to max.  
  
“Oh?”  
  
“Mhmm,” she purrs, “thought about cleaning up my diet for the gym.”  
  
“And?”  
  
Her sheet opens to let him in. Edges pinched between her thumbs and forefingers which she wraps around his head, cocooning them in the scent of last night’s multiple couplings but mostly just the scent of her which the sheet is now drenched in. And she’s gloriously naked beneath so of course he’s misfiring on all engines … again.  
  
“Well, then I got bit by one of my charges and somehow met you.”  
  
His hands curl around her waist, fingers reaching long to knead her ass in a sad mimicry of the beautiful massage she’d given his glutes earlier. His is less tension release, more … pawing.  
  
“How very serendipitous,” he muses huskily, feeling her thumbs ghost over the stubble on his jaw. “Mm. Scruffy. Should shave.”  
  
“No,” she winces but before he has the mental fortitude to ask what’s wrong he smells it. The scent of _it._ The sweet, sweet, ambrosia trickling down her leg and telling him it’s time. “I like you just the way you are.”  
  
She closes the miniscule gap between their faces and kisses him tenderly. So he pulls her closer and presses their pubic bones together. Grinds his erection where she’s hot and ready and so, so slick.  
  
 ** _Mmmm. Knot mate. Knot now.  
  
_** “M scruffy,” she mumbles between kisses. He realizes (dazedly) she might be referring to her situation down there. The soft thatch of unkempt hairs that’s so deliciously coated in slick.  
  
“Don’t care,” he grunts back, “like you just the way you are.”  
  
On a particularly avid grind, he feels her knees buckle.  
  
 ** _Bed. Knot. Now.  
  
_** Ben’s hesitant to leave this bubble. This little tent that smells like them. A portable standing nest of sorts. But he agrees. A bed is far superior and if he’s going to warm her up to the idea of knotting her in the kitchen, he might want to ease her into it. A form of acquiescence he’s not usually familiar with, but for her, he’d try.  
  
“Thank you,” she half sighs, half moans.  
  
It takes nothing for him to pick her up. Nothing to help her wrap her legs around his hips and fumble his way to her staircase. Nothing to take one careful step after another until they reach the landing.  
  
It takes nothing for him to lay her in the middle of their nest.  
  
Nothing for him to slide home and let the hazy film of rut slip over him while she begs for her Alpha. While he punches out every moan with rough thrusts that rhythmically tap her cervix. Lets it all go with every progressive wave of rut that engulf his senses and swallows up his sanity.   
  
He was, afterall, made to give her just what she needs.

  
  


…

  
  


_Excellent.  
  
_ The containers are sprawled across her kitchen counter. Laid out in long, evenly spaced, perfectly aligned rows. Each container graced with a portion of rice, veggies, and fish. The extras all piled in 3 bigger, distinctly blue-tinted glass containers with snap tops so he doesn’t mistakenly grab those in a rush.   
  
Now he just needs to let them cool enough for condensation to not ruin the balanced meals he’s slaved over. Half an hour with the lids off. The veggies and rice are already cool enough to lid but the cod and tomatoes need to breathe a little.   
  
He _could_ close the containers and be done with it, but he knows the steam will condense in the fridge and it’ll make everything soggy. Knows that it’ll already taste questionable as their days tick by. Not that it’ll be any better if he waits. No. Refrigerated pre-portioned meals never quite taste the same as freshly made, but waiting the extra half hour does make enough difference to warrant patience.  
  
It had been his last alarm, the one he’d set for the slow cooker that jolted him out of a pleasant nap. He’d passed out like an inconsiderate asshole right on top of her after he’d fucked her to orgasm twice and knotted her thoroughly. Zonked right out as he continued an easy grind and his spend began to ooze past where they were locked together, the warmth of which caressed his inner thighs and trickled thickly down his balls.   
  
After checking her for a pulse and listening for breathing, content he hadn’t smothered her to death by accident, he’d torn himself away to silence the infernal quacking. But not before grabbing the two water bottles for a refill. It was, of course, the responsible thing to do.   
  
Remembering her statement about the containers, he’d quietly padded into the garage naked and, yep, there it was. A big box of them right next to her snow blower. He’d, of course, wrangled them out of the box _in_ the garage. Worried the noise of tearing cardboard would wake her.   
  
So now he half leans against the corner of her sofa, belatedly realizing that she might smell his sweaty ass on the fabric later and tamping down the urge to rub his dick all over it anyway. Watching the containers steam he lets his mind wander.   
  
Wondering how Tico is holding up. How Dameron is doing. And maybe even trying to imagine Hux crying in a circle of blankets but that only serves to make him snicker quietly into his closed fist. The fucker’d be redder than a freshly cracked pomegranate.   
  
He wonders if Tico, who Kylo had so confidently pegged as an Alpha, has a knot considering she doesn’t have the … anatomical parts for the job. Wonders if he’ll be able to shoot out a semi-coherent email or text to her just to check in. Maybe compare notes. Maybe pass on some advice since Kylo’s been so helpful.   
  
He wonders if Dameron is going through the same thing. Is he by himself? Did his boyfriend … _Finn_ … is he an Omega too? He hadn’t smelled it on him but then, he _had_ scented something like tuberose or amberwood once. Hadn’t he? Is it possible? How would _that_ work? He should send Dameron a text too. Provided he’s got the mental fortitude, of course.  
  
Then there’s his mother and the wicked witch of Coruscant. What have they been up to? Have they managed to deal with the outbreak? Has it hit media outlets? How many press releases and statements would his mother have had to make? How much did she drag the other hospitals? Were either of them affected?  
  
For the first time in 24 hours he’s hit by the reality of it all. The wide reaching implications of this infection. He’d been so consumed with his own little bubble, with his breadcrumb of menial tasks—   
  
**_Not menial. Vital.  
  
_ ** —that he hadn’t quite had a chance to see its effects on the world. Which are _vast._   
  
This changes things not just for him and Rey and his staff. Of all people he should _know_ the spread of infection can be pandemic in nature, especially when it’s unknown. Especially when there are no benchmarks for comparison or warning signs to begin with. No red flags that could halt the spread or raise the alarm. This didn’t. This doesn’t even have a _name_.  
  
He starts chewing on his lip in thought, eyes fixated on a pair of evergreens covered in a thick layer of snow outside her kitchen window. Branches bobbing softly with a gentle wind but the inches of snow refuse to fall. The light filtering through the window is grey. Dim and depressing but for the little ball of sunshine his world revolves around. He can’t seem to find it in himself to let the dimness of the outside world affect him.  
  
It’s a mutation, that much he knows for certain. Has physical proof of it between her investigative surgery and DNA test. But can the same mutagen affect people differently? It’s not medically unheard of, but there’s always a thread of consistency if you have the patience to tease it out. And this … well, this doesn’t seem to _have_ a lowest common denominator.   
  
Sure they’ve developed glands and he’d even gotten a satisfying knot out of the ordeal, and maybe, if he can secure an MRI he can have her pelvis scanned to check for similar mutations to her magical pussy, maybe find a thread of commonality there. But the presentation between himself and Rey are quite different. Where he’s mutated into this Alpha, she’s mutated into the matching Omega.   
  
Same strain, different results.  
  
He could assume that Alpha and Omega mutate based on gender. But there’s Tico and Hux, the complete opposite of that budding theory, so out the window it goes.  
  
He could assume it was age related, but again, Tico would be in Rey’s age bracket whichever way he hacks up the cohorts. So again, Tico’s mutation into an Alpha presents contrary evidence to that being a factor in the tipping of those scales. That theory, too, goes out the window.  
  
It could be related to health. Underlying conditions have always skewed results in one direction or another, but yet again, he and Rey have equally clean medical records. With the exception of his nose of course, but Tico doesn’t have bad sinuses so that’s, yet again, out of the question.  
  
If he’d been smarter, he could have taken hormone samples from his scant subset of test subjects and compared their results. Perhaps estrogen or testosterone play a deciding factor. It wouldn’t be out of the realm of possibility. Tico and Dameron, he’s loathed to admit, share a similar bullheadedness with him. One that _could_ (loosely) be attributed to a higher testosterone count. But then, so does Rey. She’s just as stubborn and she’s decidedly mutated in the opposite (but complimentary) direction.  
  
 **_Whoa whoa whoa, slow down. You’ll give yourself a headache.  
  
_ ** **_Shit it’s like a fucking tornado in here. If you’re not careful you might whack me with a flying shark.  
  
_ ** _Not the time for movie references, buddy.  
  
_ **_Ooh, a brooding Solo. Boo-urns.  
  
_ ** **_You want some help weeding through that mess?  
  
_ ** Ben’s eyes land on the now mushy uneaten Mochi. Deflated and swimming in a pool of melted vanilla ice cream that’s managed to ooze out of their doughy shells.   
  
Yeah, sure. Why the fuck not?  
  
 _Ok. What can you tell me about what makes an Alpha and what makes an Omega.  
  
_ **_Well, Alphas have knots and Omegas…  
  
_ ** **_Oh. Ok, yeah I just got that.  
  
_ ** Ben runs his fingers through his hair, grimacing at its tangled state while waiting for his Alpha to formulate a response. Listens to the wind shake the frame of the house and a sheet rustle upstairs. A tiny snore and sniffle before it goes quiet again.  
  
The stairs might be a nuisance but the open concept definitely helps him keep tabs on her state of lucidity. Helps him with his Alpha responsibilities.  
  
 **_Alright, I already know you’re going to hate it but here it is: it was always there.  
  
_ ** _You’re kidding.  
  
_ **_Nope.  
  
_ ** _You have access to my medical lexicon and countless studies and THAT is the best you can come up with?  
  
_ **_Yep.  
  
_ ** Ben groans. Loudly. Palming his face roughly and resisting the urge to reach for his phone. To pull up his medical journal subscriptions and sift through mutation studies to ease his mounting frustration.  
  
There’s a tingle crawling up his spine. One he’s become too familiar with since last night. The beginnings of that neural nudge, a building of an action potential, that tells him the time is near. It makes his pelvic muscle flex and his dick twitch, so he palms himself more so for something to do rather than relief.  
  
He continues stroking while letting his mind wander again. Thumb grazing the roughened skin of his knot every once in a while as a reminder of its permanence.  
  
 _Always there._ ..  
  
Like a subcutaneous cyst? Like a genetic predisposition to certain types of cancers? Like hemophilia?   
  
**_Jeez those are all morbid examples. But if I HAD to pick I’d say predisposition. It’s inside your DNA. Like a predisposition to certain types of cancer except … well … not, you know, bad.  
  
_ ** _You say that, yet you also warned me about using that commanding tone.  
  
_ **_Well, yeah.  
  
_ ** _Which leads me to believe that being predisposed to be an Alpha is probably not as bad as being predisposed to be an Omega?  
  
_ **_I…  
  
_ ** _It’s true, isn’t it? I can use that tone to make people bend to my will, or at least anyone whose Omega has awoken. That automatically puts me at an advantage.  
  
_ **_But…  
  
_ ** _The Omega is the lowest notch on the totem. According to Rey’s wolf dynamics it’s their role to keep the balance in a pack by being picked on. That IS true, isn’t it?  
  
_ **_Yeah but that’s not how...  
  
_ ** They’re on the precipice of uncovering the darker truths of whatever this is. He’s sure of it because he can feel his Alpha’s reluctance to broach the topic. He’s definitely on a path that sheds a less-than-pleasant light on the whole disease. Something that might require more than just a good fuck and some ibuprofen to manage. Something that has the potential to change the society they live in. Permanently.  
  
Except he’s hit with the scent of arousal. Rich and luscious and potent. It blankets his senses and drowns coherent thought. As powerful as the sun’s rays evaporating droplets of dew on a summer morning. It’s as strong and as intoxicating as when he’d had his face wedged between her legs.  
  
 _We’ll pick this up later, yeah?  
  
_ **_Uh … yeah. I’ll just … get to … nnngh … knot. No, I’ll dig through your research you go … you know ... knot.  
  
_ ** Right.  
  
He quickly lids the boxes even if they’re still warm, stacks them unevenly and shoves them into the fridge. Not as neatly as he’d like but she’s started moaning and the sound is making him as jittery as if he’d downed an entire pot of coffee on an empty stomach. Grabbing the water bottles he races to the stairs and (carefully) makes his way up.  
  
When he staggers past the landing and manages to straighten himself out, the water bottles slip out of his hands and land on the carpet (luckily not his toes) with a muffled thud. All thoughts of movement and urgency forgotten because he’s greeted by the most glorious sight.   
  
She’s sprawled on her back, naked and glowing. A sheen of slick catches the hazy light to make her thighs look like a freshly buffed floor, beads of sweat collecting between her breasts and damp sheets haphazardly strewn about the mattress. Head dangling over the opposite edge with two fingers stuffed in her cunt.  
  
There’s squelching and moaning and the robust scent of ripe, fuckable Omega swirling in the air. The heady sight sends jolts of desire straight to his dick which he immediately starts stroking. Less indifferent now. A preparation for penetration because this … he could do this _all_ day.  
  
“Mmmm,” he purrs, devilish smirk blooming on his face, “what have we here?”  
  
Her head snaps up, wide doe eyes frame dark pupils. Her mouth forms a surprised ‘oh’ with a hint of shame. Like he’d caught her in the midst of a lewd act. And that thought alone makes his dick twitch and his hand squeeze around his knot to tamp down the urge to impale her immediately.  
  
“It’s okay, sweetheart,” he begins circling the bed (nay, stalking), “keep going. Let me see what you were doing to yourself.”  
  
She nods, letting her head fall back before she starts working her two fingers again. An easy glide into her body for which he’s got a front row seat. Her glossy fingers pull out to the cuticle then slide back in to the knuckle. A long, needy moan vibrates the air between them and tickles his balls. Over and over she fucks herself. Thumb circling steadily, hips grinding up. Seeking a certain brand of friction that only her...  
  
“Alpha,” she whines.  
  
“Shhh,” he’s _very_ interested in this for some reason, “let me see you fuck yourself. Keep going.”  
  
He’s never been privy to this type of decadence. Sex has always been transactional. An itch that needs to be scratched. If there’s foreplay it’s usually brief enough for him to not get a chance to witness _this.  
  
_ Not like he’d ever wanted to. Not like any other experience could ever hold a candle to _her_ , anyway. He _wants_ to see her pleasure herself. Wants to memorize the sights and sounds and scents. Wants to witness her fall apart on her own fingers then lick them clean himself.  
  
He wants to experience _everything_ with her.  
  
Her head dangles limply, surrendering to her ministrations but she smells … frustrated.  
  
 **_Needs … knot.  
  
_ ** Ben kneels beside her head, hand brushing gently through her hair. Smoothing it down her cheek and over her marred gland, then down the center of her body. Giving her nipples a light twist that might coincide with the way he’s twisting his fist around his shaft. “What’s wrong baby? Your fingers not doing the job?”  
  
Her head shakes. Another limp, barely there movement. “Want … knot.”  
  
“You do?” He watches as she fucks herself with rapt attention, face contorted in thought. She’s pumping steadily but her fingers are probably not long enough. Not thick enough. That’s why her hips grind and undulate so wantonly. “Aah, you do.”  
  
He hoists himself up onto the mattress, sits on the very edge to drink in the view. One hand wrapped around his length, stroking languidly, the other sliding up and down her body, stopping occasionally to knead her tits. Attention split between where her fingers disappear into her warm cunt and where her nipples pebble with each pass.  
  
He’s overcome by the need to suck on those tits, actually. It’s a very insistent thought. So with a groan, he slides back down to his knees (lest he over-extend his spine) and begins to circle her nipple with his tongue.  
  
“That help?” He murmurs with a nipple firmly caught between his teeth.  
  
He likes her like this. Whiny and needy and wordlessly begging for his cock. Likes knowing that even her own fingers couldn’t do what he does for her. That she needs him this badly.  
  
It makes him bite down a little harder on her nipple. Makes him suck her entire breast in his mouth with the ferocity of a wild animal. A heady, dangerous sort of possessiveness turning his body rigid as he bites and licks.  
  
He’s so consumed with mauling her breast he doesn’t quite notice that she’s slowed her movements at first. The way she’s started placing kitten licks against his knuckles. In fact, he only becomes aware of her actions when she begins circling her tongue around his cockhead, which makes him yelp in surprise.  
  
“You like the taste, sweetheart?”  
  
She nods, lips pursed around his head, eyes glistening.  
  
“Oh fuck,” he groans, widening his knees to give her better access. Using his hand to properly guide himself into her mouth, “you wanna suck my cock baby? Hmm?”  
  
What a sight to behold. Her head dangling over the edge of the bed, him on his knees with the tip of his dick bobbing past her lips. Her body long and lean, splayed like a fucking _feast_ across the bed. The line of her throat stretched out, waiting to be filled...  
  
She nods again, dick bulging her cheek and eyes fluttering shut like she’s savouring the taste of him. Which, come to think of it, must be a pretty potent mix of the both of them. The thin skin of his cock’s long been imbued with the flavour of her slick. Pressed and squeezed into his pores until it bore her signature.  
  
It belongs to her. _He_ belongs to her. Every inch covered and infused with her essence.  
  
 _That_ makes another wave of arousal trickle down his spine and shoot straight into groin.  
  
He leans back, pushing his hips forward. Rocking into her waiting mouth. Watches the tip of his cock disappear and reappear slicked up by her spit. Watches her tongue peek out to flick over his slit or circle his glans.  
  
Fuck that’s amazing.   
  
She’s amazing.  
  
He wants to taste her too.  
  
“Baby?” his thumb brushes over her hollowed out cheek, “can I eat your pussy? Please?”  
  
She nods again, the movement pushes him deeper into her mouth. This time his dick meets resistance in the back of her throat and makes her gag a little. A soft muted sound that she doesn’t pull away from. Fuck that feels fantastic.  
  
“Shhhhhit,” he hisses, “that’s gonna feel so good. Having my mouth on you while you suck me off. You want that, baby?”  
  
He’s not really sure why he’s asking again. She’s already agreed. He’s mentally agreeing with her agreement. But his perfect girl nods enthusiastically, wet slurping sounds and all.  
  
He growls, pouncing on the bed. Rough enough to make her gag again on his length, but gently enough to make sure his dick stays exactly where it needs to be — in her mouth. Fingers curl around her waist, pull her further onto the bed so her head doesn’t dangle while his knees widen on the soft mattress to lower himself further down her throat.  
  
He swats her hands away from her pussy, watching her clit pulse with rapt attention. A trickle of slick oozes out of her while he watches hungrily. Rolling slowly down to her perineum where he catches it with his finger and slides it back up. Like an ice cream dripping barrelling down a cone. He first glides it up and over her clit where he uses it to rub a series of circles. From there straight into his waiting mouth.  
  
The flavour bursts across his tongue like a triggered minefield. And with it, the last shreds of his control.  
  
He spreads her thighs, using his long fingers to pull her lips apart and reveal her swollen pink inner lips. Licks a long, indulgent stripe all the way down and back up where he wiggles his flat tongue to stimulate her clit.   
  
_Delicious.  
  
_ “Mmmm,” her mewling vibrates his shaft and his balls. Hands stroking his sides until they’re wrapped around his thighs. Where she’s started bobbing her head up and down. Her open mouth stuck between his pelvis and the mattress, where every movement creates beautiful suction around his cock.   
  
She bobs with fervour. Slurping and gulping like it’s her life’s mission to please him. Like she can’t get enough.  
  
She _likes_ this.  
  
And so does Ben.  
  
He closes his lips around her engorged bud and begins suckling. Varying his method between licking down her slit to collect her ambrosia, teasing her clit with his tongue and sucking it until he’s stretched the folds of skin tight.   
  
There’s a smack on his ass. Light enough to not warrant reproach but hard enough to draw his attention.   
  
“What’s wrong, sweetheart?”   
  
Is he suffocating her?  
  
Her arms wrap tighter around his hips and for the first time he thinks that maybe he should flip them over. That having his testicles in her face and (probably, on occasion) seeing his hairy asshole is probably not very gentlemanly. Except she pulls _down_ . Puts just enough pressure on his hips to tell him she wants _more_ not less. A pulsing sort of pull that mimics…  
  
 _Aah.  
  
_ “You want me to fuck your face?”  
  
With his dick stuffed halfway down her throat, she nods again.  
  
“As you wish, princess,” he chuckles against her pussy.  
  
His knees widen again, toes flexing to dig into the mattress for purchase as he begins thrusting gently. Pulling away each time he meets the resistance of her tight throat.  
  
She gurgles and moans and that makes _him_ gurgle a moan. Desperate to lose control but terrified he’ll hurt her. So he focuses on keeping his thrusts shallow and occupies himself with circling his middle finger around her entrance. Wondering just how much she’d like it if he slid a finger in while he ate her pussy.  
  
She nods again. Just as his dick hits the resistance of her throat for the umpteenth time. It unintentionally pushes him further. Past that ring of tightness. With a gasp he makes to pull back but instead, she lifts her head to swallow him deeper. Chasing after him to keep him impaled in her throat.  
  
“Ooooh fuck, Rey,” he groans, head dropping onto her inner thigh, “you’re gonna kill me, sweetheart.”  
  
She snorts around his length, pulls him in further and rocks her hips forward. Swallowing up half his finger in the process. “Oh, you want this?”  
  
Another nod. Another tight, warm, hug around his cock and he feels dizzy. Surrounded by the scent of her, dick snug in her mouth where she’s humming in pleasure, and half a finger squeezed inside her scorching cunt.   
  
**_Get it together man. Make her cum and lick that shit up like a good boy.  
  
_ ** _Look who’s perverted now.  
  
_ **_Hey, I haven’t call cum a milkshake or anything ridiculous.  
  
_ ** _Yet!  
  
_ _… that’s not a bad idea, actually.  
  
_ **_*groan*  
  
_ ** Ben slides his finger in all the way. Watching it disappear between her wet folds with glitter in his eyes. Feeling every soft ridge compress around his digit. He pumps it a few times with the utmost interest before he decides that’s not enough. Tests her pliancy by adding another. She moans in response, swallowing him deeper. Lips grazing the tender skin of his knot and blurring his vision.  
  
He feels her voice more than hears it. A soft brush against his mind that tells him he’s _still holding on_. That beckons him to _let go_.  
  
 _That’s her, isn’t it?  
  
_ **_Yep.  
  
_ ** He’ll never deny her anything.  
  
So he does. He lets go.  
  
He works his fingers into her cunt and sucks on her clit and grinds his hips into her face until her lips kiss his pubic bone and his balls graze her nose. Feels her throat contract around his cock while he grinds and she bobs. While he licks at her like a man possessed.   
  
A flicker of a textbook passage he’d read crosses his conscience. A few inches in, front wall, a patch that feels different. So he curls his fingers forward and pets her front wall until he finds the little patch of rougher, spongier tissue just like his fleeting memory suggests. He focuses on rubbing his fingertips against that, noting her taste becomes exponentially sweeter.   
  
He keeps up his assault as her bobbing becomes sloppier. As her hips begin to shake and her heels dig into the mattress. As her moaning becomes louder, rougher. Needier.  
  
On a keen clitoral suck, his fingers graze the spongy tissue and are immediately forced out. All of her pelvic floor muscles contracting at once on a choked sob to expel his intrusion. With his expulsion comes a gush of watery slick. It's a little milky and so powerful it jettisons out of her and splashes across the filthy sheet, drenching his nose, his hand, her thighs … everything in a one foot radius.  
  
 **_Holy shit did you just…  
  
_ ** _Fuck.  
  
_ “Fuuuuuck,” he groans, hips pushing forward, fucking into her mouth with abandon. Overcome with lust and greed and the need to chase an orgasm as powerful as hers because he _felt_ that and it was bone crushing and he wants _more_.  
  
He doesn’t even realize it’s happening. Doesn’t realize his knot’s swelling. Forming just behind the line of her teeth. He’s so consumed by her gushing orgasm, consumed with lapping it up and chasing the tight vice of her throat that he doesn’t even feel himself start to cum. His orgasm an organic bleed over from her own coursing through his body _.  
  
_ He groans loudly. Buries his face into her cunt and rolls it around to cover himself in her cum. Laps at random just to taste the delicious drippings. Sucking haphazardly at folds of skin just to latch onto something. Fingers digging into her thighs and pelvis grinding against her chin as he cums and cums and…  
  
She chokes.  
  
He startles up. Ready to pull out because _fuck_ he must be unloading deep in her throat, probably near her larynx or…  
  
He can’t.   
  
He fucking _can’t_ pull out.  
  
 **_*face palm* oh my God this is hilarious. You just...  
  
_ ** He can’t pull out and he’s panicking because … holy _shit_ he just knotted her mouth.  
  
Her lips are stretched tight and the ballooned end of his knot peeks just before her teeth and holy shit they’re stuck like this.  
  
“Babe? Fuck fuck fuck,” he’s panting, “are— are you okay? Uh…”  
  
The corners of her lips turn down. Fuck she’s upset. Oh fuck oh fuck oh fuck he needs to fix this. He wriggles back once but all it does is serve to tug on his knot and make another hot spurt of cum shoot down her throat and she gags and he groans and she…  
  
She giggles.  
  
 _Wait a minute.  
  
_ She’s not frowning. He glances back down between his legs to see her eyes are squinted and glassy, full of humour. Her throat contracts to swallow but it’s comfortable, easy. Not a panicked motion in the slightest. There’s no anxious flutter or seizing compression. Her breathing is even, her body relaxed. Nothing about her shows discomfort in the least.  
  
He eases back a little, more onto his knees to straighten his back.  
  
She muffles a light complaint, swats his thigh.  
  
 _Huh?  
  
_ “Oh, shit,” he chuckles bashfully, “sorry bout that they’re uh … let me just…”   
  
His balls are resting in her eye socket. Like a warm compress or de-puffing treatment. Her chest heaves with a laugh as he reaches between his legs to pull his testicles up and forward. “Better?”  
  
She nods, tugging at his knot which sends him into another orgasmic fit.  
  
“Babe,” he pants keeling over, placing fluttering kisses over her stomach and hip bones, “you gotta stop doing that if you want it to go down.”  
  
 _Maybe I don’t want it to go down.  
  
_ _Wait what?  
  
_ _You heard me?  
  
_ “Wh— yeah?”  
  
 **_Bond, bro. Probably a good time to work on that.  
  
_ ** “Fuck, babe, are you okay? Does it hurt? Can you breathe? Your jaw … is it,” he starts massaging her temporomandibular joint just to check whether it’s still attached at its hinges and … yep. It’s fine. Tight but there’s no popping or signs of dislocation.  
  
 _I’m fine, relax, okay?  
  
_ _This is … this is nice. Would you mind releasing your family jewels? They felt nice.  
  
_ The laugh that bursts out of him rattles down to his toes.  
  
“You _want_ my nuts in your eye socket?”  
  
 _Yeah. Feels kind of like a nice, relaxing eye mask.  
  
_ “You know that was the hottest thing, right?”  
  
He releases his testicles. Lets her maneuver them however she sees fit even if it tickles a little. He’s suddenly very interested in massaging her hips and legs. Kneading the muscles there while peppering her skin with kisses because he’s so thankful and she’s so amazing and how did he get so lucky?  
  
His tongue flickers along her inner thigh only for him to groan at the taste of that delectable slick she’d squirted. A mental reel of the gush on perpetual replay because it was _life changing.  
  
_ _I — I’ve never done that before.  
  
_ “Babe … you squirted. That was … it was incredible.”  
  
 _Can’t say I disagree.  
  
_ She chuckles again. So, of course, like the inconsiderate prick he is, he cums again because the vibration feels so mind numbingly good. Squeezes her thighs and rubs his nose into her pubic hair moaning.  
  
 _God that’s so hot. Might keep you here like this for a while.  
  
_ Ben groans. Bites down on a patch of smooth skin just below her navel. Hips canting forward to chase the aftershocks of yet another orgasm.  
  
“I fucking love you, you know that?”

  
  


**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hey look, a wild medical deliberation appeared among the fluff and porn!
> 
> On my honour, I swear I keep wanting to make him try to unfold more of their medical mystery ... I just can't get away from the fluff!


	7. Chapter 7

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> _“You’ve gone awfully quiet,” her cheek presses into his forehead, “I’m sorry I … interrupted.”_
> 
> _“Don’t be,” he snakes his hands around her waist and pulls her closer, “I have a whole week to worship your tits.”_
> 
> _She snickers softly. “Really?”_
> 
> _“Oh absolutely,” he kisses her collarbone. “They’re perfect,” he cranes his neck to kiss the swell of her breast, “fucking,” another sloppy kiss, “specimens.”_
> 
> _Her laughter intensifies. Makes her breast press and mould against his lips. “I always thought they were a bit on the small side...”_
> 
> _“Nonsense. Perfect mouthfuls,” he grunts, craning his head some more to kiss her pert nipple, “perfect, perfect, perfect.”_

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hai! 
> 
> I'm alive!
> 
> Surprised? Me too!
> 
> So, we're switching gears a bit. Our two lovable idiots are in the throes of heat so we're going to speed things up a bit. Instead of physical play by plays we're going to get glimpses into their lucid states. So here's a few choice moments they've experienced...
> 
>  **CW:** The last snapshot focuses on pregnancy and children. So if that's not up your alley, go ahead and skip it. I will say this - even though breeding kink is tagged and there's a healthy sprinkling throughout ... I have no plans of _actual_ Reylo children in this fic. Just good ol' Doc Solo's machinations...

“I wanna take you on a _real_ date,” he heaves a few times to steady his breathing (to no avail — he sounds like he’s on the verge of pulmonary collapse), “when this is over.”  
  
In retrospect, he should have waited until his lungs stopped seizing for air before trying to make conversation. Waited until his heart stopped pounding in his chest and he didn’t feel light headed. Or could … you know … string together a proper sentence.  
  
But somehow, _that_ particular idea had wriggled its way to the forefront of his thoughts just as the fog of his latest orgasm began to clear. And it made itself _known_. Eating up all conscious thoughts, swelling until it filled every CC of white (and gray) matter was alight with its urgency. Throwing its substantial weight against the thick walls of his skull in an effort to break free.  
  
What he wants is to make this _real._ Wants to not only do this right but wants to show her off to the world.   
  
Maybe buy her a nice boatneck top or something strapless and braid her hair to show off that beautiful silvery crescent mark he’d given her. Wants to hold her hand in public and guide her by the waist, hold doors open and clasp fingers across a white table cloth. Make underhanded remarks at the expense of other patrons and develop their own encyclopedia of inside jokes. In public. For all to see that _he,_ Dr. Ben Solo, has a mate.  
  
Her body squirms on top of his. Adjusts on his sweaty chest where she seems to be scenting him more than trying to get comfortable.   
  
Which is fine.   
  
Fuck, okay, he loves it.   
  
Loves the way her cheek and neck and chest press against his skin. The way she hums her contentment or the filthy way their skin clicks where it pulls apart on her glide, sticky with whatever fluid they’re drenched in (he’s honestly not sure what it is anymore - sweat, cum, spit … pick your poison). With every pass of her body the scent in her bedroom blooms with notes of sex and jasmine and something oddly … leathery. Maybe his chest rumbles.  
  
 **_Purr.  
  
_ ** _Whatever.  
  
_ Her hips wiggle and twist, tugging at his swollen knot and ripping an undignified moan out of his already raw throat.  
  
There’s the sound of a muffled snicker, hands looped around his neck while his hold on her hips turns vice like. It’s a pathetic attempt at getting her to hold still. If he also _happens_ to be using the leverage to grind a fresh load deeper into her … who’s gonna judge him? Hmm? Better chance at pups, anyway.  
  
 **_Now you’re getting it.  
  
_ ** _Whatever.  
  
_ “We’re doing things a bit backwards, wouldn’t you say?” Her question comes out a pant. A breathless muffle into his skin where she’s taken to peppering kisses.  
  
There’s a rumble in the room. A rumble that vibrates his belly and chest and … that can’t be him. It’s softer, more feminine. Vibrates him from the outside, not inside. He’s felt it before. Is she … is _she_ purring?  
  
 **_Mmm. Yes. Mate is happy.  
  
_ ** Her body stops moving. Settled comfortably on her perch, knot snug in her perfect cunt and her cheek exactly where it belongs (on his pillowy pecs — her words, not his). Her weight settles like a blanket. He can feel every one of her muscles relaxing, melting into him.  
  
So, of course, he releases her hips and envelopes her in his arms. Presses a kiss to the crown of her head because he _can_ and he’ll never get enough of it. Ever.  
  
And, of course, their post-coital conversations have quickly become his highlight in this whole ordeal. _Not_ that he doesn’t like the sex. But he’s found conversation with her is the easiest thing he’s ever done and he wants more. _Much more._   
  
Like the floodgates to his personality have blown open and every comment or observation he’s ever reined in just poured right out.  
  
They’ve already hammered out the best mood boosting movie — he advocated for Zoolander and she for Zombieland so they’d settled on Step Brothers but not before cackling over the fact that both their preferred choices started with zees (that’s right, zees not zeds — another thing they agreed on). They’d even discovered they both take their coffee black as their souls, can’t live without Sriracha, and absolutely despise wet socks in any form (it’s the reason she refuses to get a dog with a beard because ... errant water droplets).  
  
 _Unlike_ himself, she doesn’t play piano or any instrument for that matter (though she’d made a fine case for playing the spoons and had pinky-sworn him to a private concert), has atrocious penmanship (which he finds oddly endearing even if her notes look like chicken scratches … penned by a chicken with Parkinson’s) and (worst of all) she _lives_ for leg day — went off on some glowing soliloquy about the merits of the abductor machine and appreciation for high-rep deadlifts which had prompted him to grope her peachy ass and (you guessed it) led to _this_ particular knot.  
  
Which reminds him … how long has it been since their smoothie? He’s pretty sure their water bottles are empty. He should also grab them dinner. It’s starting to get dark out.  
  
“So you don’t want me to take you on a—”  
  
“No,” she jerks up hastily, tugs his knot yet again to send him into a fit of groans, “that is _not_ what I’m saying _at all_.”  
  
He’s too busy gasping for air and grinding himself into her. Mindlessly chasing the tail end of yet another glorious release. His only response is a gurgled ‘fuck’.  
  
“I’m just stating the obvious,” she starts rocking, hips grinding back mischievously. Her hands smooth over his chest and pinch his nipples. Eyes glinting as she traces her upper lip with her tongue.  
  
 _The little minx is doing this on purpose.  
  
_ **_Mmm, Omega is wise. Listen to Omega.  
  
_ ** The _day_ Ben Solo lets anyone outdo him. Orgasm be damned (but not really, orgasms good, very good).  
  
His hands slide back to her hips, clamp around her pelvis to pull her down. If she’s going to drown him in a blissful sea of horny, he’s going to drag her right down with him.  
  
Ben lets his grip lax, reaches his thumb for her clit and starts rubbing. Flicking the little bud until she’s shivering and fisting her hands against his chest. Until she’s right there moaning with him and throwing her head back and grinding into his thumb and pulsing around him...  
  
 _That’s right, sweetheart. Take it.  
  
_ _You’re a menace!  
  
_ _We’ve established that already. Besides … two can play this game.  
  
_ With renewed resolve and a hearty chuckle, he flips them over. Back to where it all started. Fucks into her as much as he can. The knot might be limiting but it’s not impossible to work around. There’s just enough leeway to get a good inch of glide which (incidentally) happens to be enough for both of them. Where there’s a will, there’s a way … as they say.  
  
Giving her a devious smirk, he dives for her neck. Lips attacking her scent gland, drinking in her ambrosial trickle. Letting it coat his tongue and heighten their second wind. Hand pressing into her stomach to feel the head of his cock bumping against the soft skin.  
  
 _You feel me?  
  
_ _Yes. Fuuuck.  
  
_ _Feel good?  
  
_ _Mmhmm. Yesss.  
  
_ He can feel the heat of her cervix kissing his cockhead. Can feel her inner walls ripple and grip, squeeze and quiver with every grind of his hips.   
  
Ben doesn’t know how many times they’ve done this. Has lost count of how many times he’s cum on her, in her, for her. Only that every orgasm has ramped up in intensity. Medically speaking (or at least based on the _one_ study he’d read), he knows that the more orgasms you experience in a short period, the lower their potency. With _her_ that seems to be quite the opposite. Against all odds, every orgasm has become _more_ intense.  
  
Not that he’s complaining.  
  
He flexes his hips and works himself deeper. Grinding right up against her cervix, feeling her shudder. Feeling her skin break out in goosebumps.  
  
 _So responsive.  
  
_ _You know what this is?  
  
_ He accentuates his unspoken words with a light press to her abdomen, nibbling on her neck.  
  
 _Cervical stimulation, babe.  
  
_ Ben quite likes that they can communicate like this now.   
  
At first the notion horrified him. The idea that someone (especially someone he’s dead set on impressing) can hear his innermost thoughts had scared the ever-loving shit out of him. What if she thought he was perverted? What if she thought he was a basket case? Now? He’s grown to enjoy it. Even _likes_ that there’s no barriers between them.  
  
Because even without a filter, without anything between him and her, she still _likes_ him. Giggles when an errant thought brushes her mind. Kisses him sweetly when he mentally compliments her. Hell, he’s even caught wind of some of her less than savoury machinations. She’s as much a deviant as he is and he _loves_ that about her.  
  
 _You’ve heard of a G-Spot?  
  
_ _Oh God.  
  
_ Her hands are twined in his hair. Tugging and scraping her nails against his scalp while she moans her pleasure into the silent room. It’s intoxicating.  
  
 _Have you ever heard of a C-Spot?  
  
_ _Mmmh. No. Clitoral?  
  
_ _You know the answer isn’t that simple.  
  
_ _Then why don’t you enlighten me, Alpha?  
  
_ _Brat.  
  
_ He swats her ass playfully. Uses _that_ particular movement to adjust her legs and angle himself deeper.  
  
His precious mate chokes on an inhale. Jolts her hips forward and lolls her head against the sweat soaked pillow to give him unfettered access to the source of her essence. If he wasn’t so wholly attached to her scent gland, he might have chanced a peek at her face to see if her eyes had rolled into the back of her head. Because he can _feel_ her pleasure. _Feel_ just how much his thoughts arouse her and how wholly she’s surrendered.  
  
And that happens to be _perfect_ for what he’s trying to achieve right now.  
  
 _It’s a myth that the cervix can’t be stimulated. With even pressure, you can light it up and experience a blended orgasm.  
  
_ _Wh—  
  
_ _Oh yes. That’s a thing, sweetheart. And we’re gonna give you one.  
  
_ He continues to massage his hand against her belly. Pushing down with his palm, in time with each grind. Keeping his pulses steady to add pressure right up against the pleasure point he’s stimulating. He doesn’t hammer, doesn’t chase the rhythmic tap. No, he’s pursuing something more precious. A slow and even massage against this oft ignored erogenous zone to give her the orgasm to end all orgasms.   
  
_Pressure_ is the key to this new conquest.  
  
And it’s there. He can feel it. There’s a tingle in his groin that tightens his pelvic floor muscles and makes him twitch, on the brink of his own release. The steady build of _her_ orgasm bleeding through to him as she gasps and moans, as she relaxes into him and leaves her body to his (capable) hands.  
  
 _You gonna come?  
  
_ She doesn’t respond with words. Not spoken nor those she could broadcast telepathically. Instead she hugs him tighter and opens herself fully. A mental bridge knitting itself into existence right before his eyes.  
  
It’s like consensual voyeurism. The way her mental walls crumble and leave her naked, on display. The fullness of the experience _almost_ tip him into another orgasm.   
  
She’s let him in. All of him. To see all of her. Willingly.   
  
A complete mental connection so open he could practically touch every memory. A white hall of infinite space filled with glowing orbs. It’s gut-wrenchingly beautiful.  
  
Her mind is beautiful. _She_ is beautiful. Perfect.  
  
Each press against her cervix lights an orb. A memory of smiles and dimples and dark hair and happiness.  
  
 _Mine.  
  
_ It consumes him, this need to chase every blinding flash. To set her off and make her cum like this. When they’re tethered so wholly. It doesn’t help that every pulse of her magnificent cunt, every squeeze around his knot bathes his brain in pure serotonin.  
  
 _Mine.  
  
_ So he grinds harder, trails his lips across the delicate slope of her neck until he finds the spot that makes her his. Kisses it softly. Suckles on it roughly. Chases her gasps and moans with his teeth.   
  
_You’re mine.  
  
_ _Yes Alpha. Yours.  
  
_ Silently, her body arches off the mattress. Silently, a tremor wracks her body, makes her quake, milks his cock.  
  
He’s not sure which one of them tips over the edge first. Only that their shared orgasm has sent them tumbling into rapture, hand in hand.   
  
His senses have ascended to a higher dimension. His vision blacked out, filled by a shower of stars with each consecutive spurt of cum that renders him boneless and tingling from head to toe, balls to bones.  
  
They’re both groaning and gasping. Breathless as they grip onto each other like life preservers in a stormy sea. Hands clutching and nails digging and lips latching onto any available slip of skin. Riding the waves of this tumultuous orgasm together and praying they’ll come out the other end alive.  
  
Whether it takes seconds or minutes or hours, Ben’s not sure. Only that when his toes consciously touch solid ground, when he’s back into his own skin, he’s overwhelmed with the need to kiss every inch of her ... and is woefully incapable of actualizing this need due to his pulsing knot.  
  
So he settles for the next best thing.  
  
Peppering her neck with kisses, he makes his way up to her face. Showers her jaw, her cheeks, the bridge of her nose and curve of her brow with featherlight presses of his lips. Lingers over her mouth where he captures her breaths and trails down her chin until he can kiss the hollow of her throat.  
  
With one last peck, he braces himself on his forearm, lifts his head until he’s hovering mere inches above hers. Free hand gently brushing wisps of sweaty hair out of her beautiful face where a night’s sky worth of freckles greets him.  
  
“You were saying?”  
  
Has he mentioned her post-orgasmic face is his favourite? No?  
  
Well it is.  
  
It’s all red cheeks and hooded eyes and heavy, sugary-sweet breaths fanned between pillowy lips. It’s when she’s both her strongest and weakest. The intersection of everything that is Rey.  
  
It takes her a moment to gain her bearings. A moment of locked eyes and shrinking pupils until understanding dawns. When it does, her face contorts into a shy, wholesome grin. Hands cradling his jaw and pulling him in for a soft kiss.  
  
“I wasn’t saying anything new,” her hands work his curtain of tangled curls into another bun, thumbs tracing his browbone once the task is complete and he has an unobstructed view of her face, “just stating the obvious.”  
  
With a radiant smile that beams from every fiber of his being, he kisses her nose. “Well, since we’re stating the obvious. Isn’t it obvious I want to take you on a real date?”  
  
“Hmmmm.” She _pretends_ to mull it over. Pretends to consider the question. But he already knows the answer. Already heard the resounding yes in his head and can see her wide doe eyes glittering with happiness. “Yeah,” she offers softly, “yeah it is.”  
  
Her arms wrap tighter around his neck, pull him closer.  
  
Lips brush against his softly, “and I’d like that.”  
  
If he had planned on cracking a self-deprecating joke, she quashes it with a long kiss.

  
  


...

  
  


Their empty meal containers sit on top of the cooler, forks piled in with the newly christened Sriracha bottle that bore witness to a successful meal.   
  
She’d named it (the Sriracha bottle) Tom. For hot tamale. Because that’s a thing now.  
  
They’ve drained their refilled water bottles and he’d promised himself he’d go take care of replenishing their supply _and_ putting away the containers. If time was on his side, he’d even wash the empties and set them out to dry. Except she just looked so delicious laying there.  
  
Naked and sated, her belly having taken on a nice roundness. Whether from food or the flood of cum he’s been steadily pumping into her, he’s not really sure. Only that the sight of her made him horny as fuck.  
  
Kylo had babbled ‘pups, pups, pups’ senselessly, so maybe that had _something_ to do with it?  
  
Meh.  
  
He’d gotten out of bed with _every_ intention of ticking off that short list of housekeeping items, maybe even grabbing a few of those mochi for dessert. Except he’d found something much more delicious to sink his sweet tooth into.  
  
Her tits.  
  
Her perfect tits.  
  
“Beeeeeen!”  
  
“Mmmph,” he groans around a mouthful of perfectly stiff nipple. Latching his puckered lips around it and sucking roughly, groaning theatrically and letting his eyes flutter closed.   
  
“Do you _want_ to trigger another wave?”  
  
He releases her nipple with a pop. Licks his flat tongue over it for good measure before flicking the bud with the pointed tip. “Oh the horror,” he quips with a boyish grin.  
  
“We just ate,” her reprimand falls on deaf ears. He’s already laving his way to the other breast. “Strenuous exercise after a large meal can make you nauseous!”  
  
“Really?” He feigns shock while his lips continue their trajectory, “it’s a good thing I’m not doing anything other than worshipping your tits then.”  
  
His hand closes around his newest mammary victim, kneading the swell and nipping the pitched bud. He might be making om-nom sounds. He might also be transfixed with the way her sweater stretcher molds to his paw. Meh.  
  
 **_Please, for the love of all that is holy, NEVER call her magnificent jugs sweater stretchers EVER again.  
  
_ ** “But … they’re sensitive,” she whines.   
  
He kisses the underside of her breast softly. “Excellent.”   
  
“Not _excellent,”_ she huffs, “bad. Bad! You’ll get me all hot and bothered then another wave’ll hit and then _bam.”  
  
_ “Travesty,” he murmurs gleefully, “I’ll have to make sure to be gentle, then.”  
  
 **_Yeah right.  
  
_ ** _Shut up.  
  
_ Does he inhale the entire breast? Absolutely. Ben opens his ridiculously large mouth (for which he’s thankful for the first time in his entire life) and just vacuums up the delicious morsel.   
  
Does he fondle the shit out of the other breast? You’re damn right he does. He massages the soft swell, pinching and rolling the nipple between his thumb and index finger.   
  
**_Aren’t you supposed to be refilling the bottles and tidying up?  
  
_ ** _Aren’t you supposed to be team horny?  
  
_ **_Oooof. Burn, bro.  
  
_ ** With Kylo’s (half) approval he fully gives up on his lofty aspirations of cleanliness and hydration. Promptly shifts to fit himself between her legs and lets himself devour her delicious tits in earnest.  
  
“Ben,” her gasped words are rough, a sinful melody unlocking his inner beast, “please…”  
  
 _That’s right sweetheart. Beg for it.  
  
_ _Ben please don’t…  
  
_ _Wait what? Did I hear that right?  
  
_ She sounds genuinely worried. Sure, her speaking voice is pure, sweet silk and desire but her mental plea sounds ... concerned.  
  
There’s no pop. No seductive nipping or licking. Nothing suggesting a brief recess in the way he releases her. Her apprehensive tone’s sobered him right up.  
  
With a gentle kiss to her sternum he looks up, concern written plainly on his face. “What’s wrong, sweetheart?”  
  
Her face is red. Flushed with embarrassment. She worries her lower lip between her teeth, eyes fluttering away from his.   
  
Yep. Something’s definitely up, he hadn’t just imagined it.  
  
“It’s okay, tell me. We’re in this together, remember?” He tries to soothe.  
  
“I just,” her eyes flit around the room, a pretty blush creeping down her neck that’s visible despite the darkness settling around them, “I … I like talking to you.”  
  
He’s starting to understand her tells. When she’s feeling small and when she’s feeling bold. This is his first time witnessing Rey _this_ timid and he’s not a fan. He’s much more fond of the feisty, fiery wolverine he met all those days ago. Is her biggest cheerleader.  
  
Hell, for her he’d actually wear a pleated skirt and wave pom poms.  
  
 _Who can make a grown man cry? It’s R-E-Y.  
  
_ And he’ll do _anything_ to set her back on course. To raise her back to her fierce self. Because he (of all people) knows just what it’s like to keep your wolf’s skin within reach. To have your shell at ready in case you need to make a hasty retreat. Knows how uncomfortable it is to be flayed open with no escape route in sight.  
  
With a soft kiss to the side of her breast, he pushes himself up, leans forward to hover over her at eye level. “I like talking to you too, babe.”  
  
He must’ve said something right (self high-five) because the worry seems to melt. Her scrunched brows settle back in place and the sparkle returns to her eyes.   
  
“I just…” she seems to falter, the words he knows are at the tip of her tongue stalled. His precious mate just needs a minute and a little encouragement.  
  
So he brushes her hair back and kisses her cheek. All actions he wouldn’t normally think were in his repertoire and yet here he is, dishing them out as easily as breathing. They’re as natural, as intrinsic, as the beating of his heart. Movements he has no control over because they’ve seemingly always been there. Locked away, waiting for the right person to bestow on.  
  
And she’s here now.  
  
“It’s okay. You can tell me.”  
  
“I…” she gives him the _sweetest_ puppy eyes he’s ever seen, “if … if you trigger another … uh … I … I like getting to know you and if it starts again then—” her words trail off...  
  
“Then we don’t get to finish making that list of reasons why Return of the King is the best Lord of the Rings installment?”  
  
She giggles shyly. “Y-yeah.”  
  
“Okay,” he pecks her mouth, hard and wet and not the slightest bit sexual despite their constant state of undress. “Okay,” he repeats, plunking down next to her and curling around her body. Nuzzling his nose against her scarred scent gland and gracing it with a soft kiss. “Whatever you want, sweetheart.”  
  
“Thank you,” she breathes a sigh of release. The tension relief is palpable. Like a perfectly measured shot of ativan to a panicked patient.   
  
“Anything for you babe,” he murmurs into her neck. And he means it. From the bottom of his heart.   
  
Maybe he’d blurted it out earlier. In that avalanche of emotion he’d let his deepest feelings surface, but it’s nothing she wouldn’t have heard echoing inside his skull. And even if they hadn’t broached the subject again, it doesn’t change a single thing.  
  
He loves her.  
  
Against all odds and against all reason, he’s found himself loving her.   
  
It’s funny that, in retrospect, he’s learned that love isn’t built on grand gestures and epic adventures. It’s not built on elaborate dates and striking ‘aha’ moments. And, maybe like Hux had said, it’s not found at a ritzy restaurant table with starched tablecloths, dim lights and expensive bottles of wine.   
  
Love, it turns out, is something you find between two compatible people. Despite their shortcomings and baggage. Despite outside perception. It builds quietly, in the small spaces between moments. Brick by brick it enmeshes your heart until the moment doesn’t strike lightning fast, but rather appears as an epiphany that’s always been in your peripheral. Like you finally step away from the bricklaying to look at your work and realize you’ve built a monument. Not an ‘aha’ but a ‘huh’.  
  
He fell in love with her bit by bit. Tiny, imperceptible moments that laid the foundation and erected her shrine silently. When she surprised him with her wit. When they sat quietly or laughed at the same jokes. When they picked up errant thoughts and exchanged movie-quote ladened banter. When they drank smoothies or snuggled in those (frankly magical) airplane seats. When she put him in his place when no one else would. Had the courage to meet his eye when most cowered in his presence.  
  
And it _isn’t_ (he’s realizing despite his parents relationship) possessive. Sure, yeah, she’s his and he’ll gladly ease any challenger of their trachea if they tried. But beyond that it’s selfless. It’s caring about their wellbeing. About wanting her to feel good and wanting to make sure she’s comfortable. There’s happiness in just feeling their heart beating, in just feeling her breath caress his skin. Happiness in creating a protective bubble around her to keep her in a land of eternal sunshine (where she belongs).  
  
And maybe it’s also a little bit ironic (he _will_ sue you if you start singing Alanis). He’s spent his entire career nursing bodies to health. Training his mind to decode each new jigsaw of symptoms until he’s uncovered the source and found a cure, yet he’s never _cared._ Not like _this._ She’s not a puzzle and she’s not sick, yet he finds himself _wanting_ to do everything in his power to make her healthier, happier. More whole.  
  
And that’s love. Isn’t it?  
  
“You’ve gone awfully quiet,” her cheek presses into his forehead, “I’m sorry I … interrupted.”  
  
“Don’t be,” he snakes his hands around her waist and pulls her closer, “I have a _whole week_ to worship your tits.”  
  
She snickers softly. “Really?”  
  
“Oh absolutely,” he kisses her collarbone. “They’re perfect,” he cranes his neck to kiss the swell of her breast, “fucking,” another sloppy kiss, “specimens.”  
  
Her laughter intensifies. Makes her breast press and mould against his lips. “I always thought they were a bit on the small side...”  
  
“Nonsense. Perfect mouthfuls,” he grunts, craning his head some more to kiss her pert nipple, “perfect, perfect, perfect.” The bud slips between his lips, where he suckles it gently and snuggles her closer. Where he manages to set off a squealing giggle from the precious woman in his arms.  
  
“ _Beeeeeen_!”  
  
“Sorry,” he bestows one last kiss to the swell he’ll have to worship later, “sorry. Couldn’t help myself.”  
  
Her chest is heaving, light titters of laughter breaking occasionally when they can’t be contained. With a content sigh, he settles back against her neck.   
  
“No, really. They’re tiny!”  
  
“Pffft,” he nuzzles into her neck, “then I’m the unnamed founder of the itty bitty titty committee.”  
  
Her snort sets off a peal of joint laughter. She cackles something to the effect of ‘you’re absolutely ridiculous’ while he chuckles against her neck. While he lets the jasmine blooms engulf him and sustain him because … perfect.  
  
“So, where were we...” his hands massage down her side, “exhibit A — Shelob’s lair.”  
  
“You’re kidding,” she gasps sharply, “you’re just going to gloss over Eowyn’s badass defeat of the Witch-King? Or … or Pippin’s incredible performance singing ‘Edge of Night’?”  
  
“Babe, those are exhibits B and C.”

  
  


…

  
  


He has no idea what time it is. Or what day. Only that they’re whispering secrets in the dark.   
  
It was dark when they fell asleep. Dark when they woke up. Dark when they fucked. Dark when they came back to their senses and his knot deflated.  
  
Time has become a blur, separated only by their conversations. Each successive dip into the turbulent waters of her heat caused his grip on reality to slip a little further. His only tether is these brief intermissions that remind him this is real, not just a fevered dream.  
  
Lulls in their condition where they’re not stuck together, not in need of sustenance, sleep or being pulled under by the current of desire. Fleeting moments of calm before the storm surges again. Moments they both intend to take full advantage of, every time they’re offered.  
  
She’s nestled into his side, head fitted perfectly into the dip of his shoulder. Her fingers trace idle patterns on his chest. Occasionally trailing up to his neck where they glide over the scar she’d given him. Where he feels the bulge of her cheek press into his shoulder as she lovingly grazes the scabs. So he squeezes her tighter because he just _knows_ it’s a smile.  
  
His own fingers drift up and down her sides gently. Featherlight brushes administered by dumbbell calloused hands that have the power to elicit goosebumps and set broken bones. A line ghosted down her side from her shoulder to her thigh, then back up again. Lazy, cathartic strokes. Soothing them both in this limbo. This existence between wakefulness and sleep. Or … more appropriately … before the next wave hits.  
  
He kisses her forehead. Lets the warmth of her seep into his lips and warm his face. “What’s heat feel like?”  
  
“Wow,” her huffed breath fans over his exposed skin, “starting this round off guns blazing are we?”  
  
Ben shrugs idly, lets his hand come to rest on her ass where he gives her a casual squeeze. Presses his lips into her hair line where he murmurs his next words into her skin. “You know as well as I do, _this_ guy doesn’t beat around the bush.”  
  
“No,” she chuckles, “no, her certainly doesn’t.”  
  
Her leg swings over his abdomen and she shifts just enough that her head angles up to face him. So he dips his own (ugly neck wrinkles be damned) to meet her gaze. Black eyes searching black eyes in the dim moonlight.  
  
“Well, if you must know, it’s an urge … and things get … uh, hazy. And it’s incredibly hot. Feverish, I’d say.”  
  
“Mmm, I know _that_ . I meant the _physical_ symptoms when it hits. I’m interested in the running tally of presenting symptoms at onset.”  
  
“Should’ve been more clear, doc,” her brow scrunches but there’s no anger there. And if he weren’t sure, she playfully pinches his nipple which earns her a hearty chuckle.  
  
He should ask her about her penchant for pinching his nipples, actually...  
  
“Hmmm,” she’s back to drawing idle patterns, “when a wave hits it feels a little like you’re … fainting. Yeah. Sounds sort of dampen and vision gets blurry … with the exception of you, that is. I don’t know how but … when it starts you’re always perfectly clear. I guess it’s a bit like being tipsy? But with an anchor.”  
  
“So, presyncope.”  
  
“I’m sorry, what?”  
  
“Sorry, lightheadedness. Presyncope is the medical term of pre-fainting. Your vision greys out, hearing impairment, heart palpitations, weakness, sweating…” he trails off knowing full well he’s dipping into the nuts and bolts they’re currently _not_ discussing.  
  
“Nerd,” she heaves a soft laugh, “but I guess, yeah, that. Except you. You’re always crystal clear. Kind of like an anchor. Everything around might be woozy but looking at you manages your center me. And that’s only the first stage.”  
  
Yes, he’s preening. But he’s also very interested in the initial stages of onset so he’ll fish for compliments later. File that tidbit of information into the ‘goad your mate’ pile he’s amassing and focus on the task at hand.  
  
“What happens after?”  
  
“You’re a curious one, aren’t you?”  
  
“Can you blame me? Of course I am,” he brings his hand up to hers, stopping her movements to twine their fingers and resting them over his heart, “I just wanna make sure we have all the moving pieces. To make it easier on you.”  
  
She rests easily against him. Her thumb brushing his fingers and squeezing. There’s a flash of something bright and pure in his mind’s eye, like a lightning bolt too quick to see before it disappears. It’s wake leaves a trail of mirth.  
  
“Such a gentleman,” her head tilts to press a kiss to his clavicle, “okay. So first comes this ... _presyncope_ … then comes the desire. Like a hunger pang but … you know, you’re craving something else. Like my body’s yearning to be filled except it’s not my stomach that’s empty...”  
  
“It’s that tight little cunt?” He chortles into her hair.  
  
Entwined fingers or not, she still manages to admonish him with a nipple pinch.  
  
“You’re one crude bastard—”  
  
 _Your crude bastard..._   
  
“—but yes. She just feels so … empty. That’s usually when I’m the most … uh … lubricated. Like my snatch is salivating.”  
  
“Makes sense.” He _does_ try to rein in a snort when she calls her perfect pussy her ‘snatch’. He really does. If his chest stutters to suppress the laughter, that’s no one’s business but his own. Besides, she doesn’t seem to notice.  
  
“And that’s when the worst of it really begins,” she continues quietly.  
  
“Oh?”  
  
He feels her head nod. Feels her face burrow into his neck so he holds her tighter. “The cramps and the heat.”  
  
“Cramps?” That’s new…  
  
 **_Is it? She was complaining about cramps back at the hospital.  
  
_ ** _She also called it nature’s monthly miracle.  
  
_ **_Well she didn’t know then. She does now.  
  
_ ** _And now I do too…  
  
_ “Y-yeah, cramps.”  
  
“Tell me about them?” He’s started playing with her hair. Brushing his fingers through her tangled waves and gently prying apart any kinks. He should probably give her back the hair tie. Maybe even return the favour and put _her_ hair up for a change. It’s just so damn nice to be able to see without his own locks getting in the way. Call him selfish but he might just keep the hair tie and deal with her brushing out her knots.  
  
 **_Ha. Knots.  
  
_ ** _God you’re childish.  
  
_ “Like period cramps but more intense. It feels like my insides are a wet towel being wrung out. _Angrily_. It’s so intense the pain turns my thighs to jello…”  
  
“Huh, that sounds like textbook dysmenorrhea with radiating pains.”  
  
“Are you going to fling medical terminology after every symptom?”  
  
“Sorry. Force of habit.”  
  
“Well, unlearn it,” she growls and it’s the cutest fucking thing and he’s _fighting_ not to awww out loud, “this is _very_ important medical research, afterall.”  
  
“Of course,” he _hopes_ she doesn’t register the irony in his tone, hopes the sarcasm isn’t too thick, “absolutely. _Very_ important.”  
  
“Anyway,” she’s looking at him. He can feel her eyes boring into his jaw but chooses to stare at the ceiling instead because he _knows_ she’s glowering, waiting for him to burst into laughter (which he will _not_ do because his nipples need a break), “initially I would have pegged them as menstrual cramps too but this is different.”  
  
“How so?”  
  
“If you gave me a minute to think…”  
  
“Sorry.”  
  
Her fingers disengage from his. In an instant, she’s straddled him and _this_ time he can’t avoid her glower (because she’s cupped his cheeks between her palms and dammit why is this so hot?!). “Are you going to listen? Or are you planning on constantly interrupting me?”  
  
“Babe, I said I’m sorry,” he tries his best (he really does) to keep his composure. But she’s straddling him and her cunt is wet and her tits are just an optic dip away and…” I can’t help it. Honest.”  
  
“Yeah,” she sighs, hands coming to rest on his shoulders and making full contact with him _down there_ , "I figured. You just can’t help flexing that sexy brain of yours, can you?”  
  
“I’ll try to be better. I promise.”  
  
“Mmkay,” and of course she starts _grinding,_ “as I was saying. The cramps are different. First of all, there’s the pain … which isn’t abnormal for _dysmenorrhea_ … but it’s the _way_ I cramp that’s not normal. It’s a pulsing pain rather than a solid mass. Like … uh … like my womb is having a seizure? Weird I know.”  
  
She glides over his cock _just_ right. The warmth of her caressing his sensitive frenulum, makes him suck air through his clenched jaw. His hands automatically grip her hips and assist her glide. But he won’t open his mouth. No siree bob. He’s learned his lesson.  
  
He’ll let her talk. Let her work herself up. He can already scent the way she’s tumbling head first towards another wave.  
  
“And it feels hot,” she continues, her voice syrupy sweet, “like with each spasm there’s a burn … fuck Ben … that feels so good.”  
  
Ok fine. Staying quiet was a lofty aspiration. He can’t shut up anymore.   
  
“Like an infection?”  
  
“No,” she moans, “that’s usually sharp. This is more like a fire. It’s hot … _aah_ … like … like an actual fever. And it makes me sweat … like good cardio.”  
  
“So due to,” yes he’s grunting too, “muscular contractions.” He’s not really asking a question. Nor is he making a diagnostic statement for differential. He’s, quite frankly stating the obvious because his mental state is fading. Being pulled under by the scent and feel and anticipation of _her.  
  
_ “Fuck,” she throws her head back, nails scraping his pectorals and moaning wantonly into the air, “it’s happening again.”  
  
He _could_ tell her he already knows. Could tell her that he’s aware of rut’s haze crowding his senses. That everything’s begun to blur with the exception of _her_. Could tell her that he can smell it. _Had_ picked up the scent of onset well before she’d even straddled him. Had felt it through their bond.  
  
Instead he flips them over. Murmurs, “shh, I’ve got you baby,” into her ear.  
  
Instead, he sweeps her legs around his waist and breaches the gates of nirvana.

  
  


…

  
  


It feels like it’s always night when he’s holding her closest.  
  
When he feels closest _to_ her.  
  
And if that’s the case, let the world fall into perpetual darkness because he’d _thrive.  
  
_ He’s not even really sure if he slept or just lazed watching patterns form on her slanted ceiling. Time seems to span endlessly during this heat/rut business. Especially when he has her in his arms.   
  
Like she’s the key that unlocked the door to infinity.  
  
As if on cue, like she picked up his errant thoughts (which always seem to revolve around her, not a far stretch considering his life has become a vortex of Rey), she snuffles against his chest. Smacks her lips softly before burrowing her face into his neck and resuming her snoring.  
  
It’s nice like this. Quiet all around. The world is quiet. His mate is quiet. There’s no urges to contend with. His Alpha’s sleeping.  
  
The only thing missing is her.  
  
Sure she’s physically here, and he really shouldn’t ask for more, but he misses her voice. Misses her banter. Misses the kaleidoscope of opinions she has when she’s fully coherent. In fact, as much as he likes fucking ‘round the clock, he’s (cautiously) optimistic that this relationship holds promise once this is all over. Looks forward to doing normal things with her and building something beautiful together.  
  
“Mmm, me too,” he feels her chest expand on the mumble. Feels her yawn against his neck.  
  
Her body goes through the rhythms of waking. At first there’s the wiggling of fingers and toes. Another yawn, so big he can feel the air she’s stolen cool his pectoral. Can feel the emptiness of the space she’s vacated when her head lifts off. Her limbs begin to tremor from the force of what feels like a (very) satisfying stretch.  
  
“Morning,” he murmurs into her hair.  
  
“Hi,” she sighs, tucks her head under his jaw and snuggles back where she belongs, “I heard that.”  
  
“Did you?”  
  
“Uh huh. And I’m not disagreeing about my thoughts being a kaleidoscope but yours aren’t any less colourful.” Her voice is rough. Sleep laden and a little hoarse. Words mumbled quietly, through swollen lips.  
  
Ben can only chuckle and agree. Pull her closer to start drawing gentle patterns down her arm while the ambient moonlight envelopes them.   
  
“It’s nice like this,” she continues, “when they’re quiet.”  
  
“Mmhmm, I’d have to agree.”  
  
They’ve both fallen back into silence. A mess of tangled limbs, naked as the day they were born, and quiet heartbeats. Rising chests and calm, even breaths. A cocoon of warmth that smells like sex and satisfaction and forever.  
  
Stray thoughts brush his mind. Phrases without context that disappear as soon as he tries to focus, like she reels them in when she feels his attention’s caress.  
  
 _He couldn’t have meant that.  
  
_ _It’s gotta be the scents.  
  
_ _… no way he’ll stick around.  
  
_ There’s uncertainty to the tone of those errant thoughts. An anxious undercurrent that has him utterly perplexed. So he kisses her forehead and closes his eyes. Takes a deep, soothing breath to relax his mind.  
  
He doesn’t know much about how this bond works. And maybe, if they weren’t using it in the heat of the moment or tinkering with it in those precious few lulls between waves, they’d have a better understanding of its mechanics. Could test theories and conduct a few choice experiments.  
  
For now, all he has is his half-formed theories. And one is that he can strengthen the connection and hear more clearly if he opens his own mind. For any two components to work, they need to be fully connected, afterall.   
  
What’s the point of a working tricuspid valve if the aortic valve doesn’t work? What’s an atrium without a ventricle? It’s cohesion between the two that makes the heart pump, that allows oxygen-rich blood to circulate through the body.   
  
Likewise, his theory is that the mental bridge needs to be open on both ends.  
  
So he tries.  
  
He relaxes as much as he can and ‘opens his mind’ like that yogi had insisted during that _one_ meditative yoga class he’d taken. Feels her presence there almost immediately. The way an idea carries weight and takes up space in your mind.  
  
It blooms like warmth. First at the epicenter. Then radiates out from within itself. He feels her presence in his mind take shape.  
  
Feels her hesitance as the bridge knits itself in place.  
  
“You know I have an implant, right?”  
  
Her spoken words snap him out of his dreamy state. Back into bed where she’s snuggled into his side.  
  
“Hmm?”  
  
“Nexplanon. I got it…”  
  
“Shhhh,” he hisses, worried their topic of conversation will wake up their voices and cause an uproar, “I know. Last August. It was in your chart.”  
  
He takes a moment to take stock of his Alpha. Peacefully snoozing and completely unaware of their conversation.   
  
Ben supposes that’s the benefit of having spent God knows how many waves listening to him and following orders. Kylo’s come to trust him in the lulls between. Taking a break from the tedious job of egging him on to fuck harder, faster, pup pup pup.  
  
“And yet you made me pee in a cup because you thought I was…”  
  
“I was simply ruling out probable cause,” he interrupts.  
  
“Uh huh,” he can scent her annoyance as much as he can hear it in the way her utterance drips.  
  
“I can admit it was a bad judgement call. I was grasping at strings then. But … regarding your implant … they don’t need to know,” he whispers into her hair, “Can you imagine what would happen if they found out there’d be no pups?”  
  
“World War O … or A?” She titters softly.  
  
“Dad joke, sweetheart.” But he can’t help laughing along with her.  
  
Her giggles taper off and a glimmer of sadness brushes his mind. “Y-yeah,” she sighs, “she’d freak out for sure.”   
  
Rey attempts a stilted laugh. Ultimately fails and falls silent again. _This_ time, he can practically feel the slump in her spirit.  
  
“Hey,” he gives her a squeeze, “you okay? Did … did she hear that? Kylo’s sleeping but maybe…”  
  
“No, no. I’m fine,” she presses a kiss to his pectoral.  
  
She’s placating him. Now, under normal circumstances, he’d take it. And Ben Solo might be many things — a dick of prehistoric proportions, abbrasive, anal (and that’s only the tip of the iceberg, alphabetically), but the one thing he is most certainly not is stupid.  
  
Because what he feels in himself is something he recognizes being mirrored across their bond. A sense of mourning for something that he apparently wants. The realization that despite their numerous couplings, that little matchstick sized plastic rod just under the surface of her skin will work its potent magic and ensure their labour bears no fruit.  
  
And that hurts, doesn’t it?  
  
Maybe it’s his Alpha’s incessant ramblings about pups. The pretty pictures Kylo paints of building swing sets in a backyard, and the soft, powdery smell of downy, tiny heads. Images of a swollen belly and foot rubs, a cornucopia of prenatal vitamins and nightly lamaze practice. Of the gentle pat of tiny hands and feet reaching for his through the delicate skin of her abdomen. Maybe all these images have set fire to something he’d not only considered dormant, but nonexistent.  
  
Suddenly, he finds himself craving it. Wants nothing more than to load in the program and let the original 3-D printer work its magic. Hover over her protectively as they bring new life into the world. And that can’t happen because just under a year ago she made the responsible choice.  
  
But it’s not his own epiphany that makes his heart clench. It’s the certainty that she feels it too. That, even if she’d been as convinced that the family life wasn’t for her (the way he’d been convinced of the same for himself), somehow that’s transmuted. In both of them.  
  
“Hey, we can … uh … we can try anyway,” he releases his hopes and dreams like a prayer, “after?” He gulps, waiting for her to set the record straight and let him know he’s prattling about something she has no interest in. It doesn’t come. “We can, we can have a look at getting the implant removed a-and up your folic acid and in a few months try properly?”  
  
God saying it out loud makes him sound like such a pansy. Exactly the type of man he used to scowl at in the hospital’s urology wing. The kind of men who’s chins would quiver when they’d hear their resident fertility specialist announce their sperm had ‘low motility’.  
  
And yet…  
  
And yet he feels her cheek bulge against his clavicle. Feels her head lift to gaze at him with a hopeful expression. It’s so pure, so blindingly perfect he can practically _taste_ the diaper rash cream.   
  
Of course, she schools her delight back into a semblance or indifference, but he knows now. His senses hadn’t misled him, afterall. She wants it too.  
  
“Y-yeah,” she clears her throat awkwardly, bites her lip and bobs her head, “yeah. I mean — whatever, you know.”  
  
God she’s adorable.  
  
On the outside she looks perfectly indifferent. No more affected by his proposition than if he’d asked her to consider what takeout to order. But on the _inside,_ he can feel her vibrating with glee. And it’s intoxicating in a way no heat or rut could ever compare to.  
  
He hoists her up onto his lap, peppers her cheeks with kisses.  
  
“Good,” he mutters between smooches, “and as long as they get _your_ ears, I’m happy to make as many as you want.”  
  
Her squeals and peals of happy laughter warms his heart and hardens his dick.  
  
Nope, maybe he won’t be goading her to pee in a cup in 2 weeks time. Aww, who’s he kidding, he would have bought the Costco sized box of pregnancy tests and made her pee on them daily. But that’s not the point.  
  
The point is, he wants this. And she does too. And it’s not a question of if anymore, but when.  
  
Yup. This just in — The illustrious Dr. Benjamin Solo wants offspring. With Rey. His mate.   
  
“You’re bloody ridiculous,” her whine squeaks between bouts of laughter, “I happen to like your ears!”  
  
“Hardy-har, very funny,” he nibbles his way down to her neck, “now _you’re_ being ridiculous. Nobody wants these satellite dishes.” And to seal his point, he blows a raspberry right against her scent gland to set off another peal of laughter.  
  
They fall into a surprisingly agile tickle fight that he manages to (somehow?) lose. Pinned in the ratty mess of sheets and pillows and random array of clothes, that all need not just a good wash but to be burnt in an incinerator, with his mate perched triumphantly on top of him. She jostles his arms above his head, those tiny hands he can engulf in one of his holding him as harshly as a pair of manacles.   
  
“I happen to think your ears are perfect,” she snickers.   
  
And to accentuate her point, she dips her head and nibbles his ear lobe. Releases his arms to trace the shell of his unattended ear.  
  
Ben’s covered his ears for as long as he can remember. Since he’d been old enough to make decisions about the state of his hair, to be more precise. Always choosing to hide them and pretending they’re not really there.  
  
For the first time in his life since childhood, he feels _good_ about them.  
  
Feels loved _despite_ them.  
  
 _For them.  
  
_ There’s something about the way she kisses the shell of his ear. The way she caresses them with so much feeling it brings his heart to the brink of bursting. His insecurity morphs into something he knows very much about — pride.  
  
For the first time in his life, he’s _proud_ of his ears.  
  
And for that, he loves her all the more.  
  
 **_Huh?  
  
_ ** **_*rubs crud out of eyes* wha—  
  
_ ** **_Wha’d I miss? What’s going on here?  
  
_ ** **_Pups? We making pups?  
  
_ ** **_*sniff*  
  
_ ** **_Aah, yes, yes we are. Good. Now let’s knot._ **

  
  
  
  
  
  


**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I plan on one chapter more like this because the moments just kinda write themselves.
> 
> In the meantime, can I interest you in some light medical reading?
> 
> [Presyncope](https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Lightheadedness)   
>  [Dysmenorrhea (aka period cramps)](https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Dysmenorrhea)   
>  [Ventricles, Atriums, and other Structures of the Heart](https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Heart#Structure)   
>  [Contraceptive Implants (specifically Nexplanon as mentioned in this fic)](https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Contraceptive_implant)   
>  [Low Motility (aspect of male infertility)](https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Oligospermia)


End file.
